


No Fear

by Meeralith



Series: The Vaccine [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Sex, Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fingering, Hurt/Comfort, Improper usage of feeding organs, Medium-speed burn, OC & Author like Wraith more than is good for them, Whump, Wraith, Wraith Feeding, Xenophilia, handjobs, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-14 03:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meeralith/pseuds/Meeralith
Summary: Captured, wounded and starving, "Steve" the Wraith finds himself helpless. What he didn't expect is the human potential for sympathy and mercy.





	1. Mercy

Chapter 1 – Mercy

“I wonder what hurts worse – the gunshot wounds, or the hunger.”

The Wraith still feels the anger rising in his chest, when he recalls these words. So full of themselves, they are, so triumphant in this tiny victory, and they savor it. Relish in his suffering.  
He's already been hungry when he'd embarked on this mission, having used his last reserves to mend the worst part of his wounds, the life-threatening part.

They still bleed under his coat, his carefully maintained facade, they sting and ache, a pulsing pain, in synch with his hunger.  
The pain comes in waves, each pulse burning brighter, and how would be love to curl up on the ground, weep in his anguish, but he refuses to give his captors that satisfaction.

Humans are beasts, animals, cattle. They know no boundaries, have no rules. He detests them.

His eyes flicker up to the doors, as they open. Instead of the military leader that usually comes to taunt him, a woman enters. The Wraith glares at her, hoping to intimidate her enough to dissuade her from interacting with him, but she doesn't flinch.

“Open it.” she says, addressing the two guards flanking her, and one of them fiddles with a control pod near the doors of the chamber.  
The field surrounding his cell deactivates, and the doors glide open. With a twitch, he comes alive, and enters a defensive stance, feverishly looking from one human to another, trying to assess which one he'd have the most chances of taking on in his weakened state, but he doesn't get to come to any conclusions.

The other guard fires at him, the stun blast pushing him clean off his feet. He hisses, and tries to fight himself back to his feet, but the chemical in his system prevents him from doing so. Drowsy, with a thumping headache, he surrenders himself to the ground.

The woman enters his cell, and kneels down beside him, setting down a small coffer with her. His feeding hand twitches, as the burn grows, so close to possible salvation. Her body heat feels like a scorching ray against his skin, as she places her hand on his cheek, and pushes his head to the side. He breathes audibly, and a tiny sting tells him that she's injected something into his neck.

Feeling even weaker, he struggles to move his head to face her again, when she lets go. Breath rattles in his throat, and he realizes that he can't move. At all.

“What are you doing to me?” he rasps at her, and she briefly looks up at him.  
“I've given you a muscle relaxant.” she answers, surprisingly honest, and turns to undo the clasps holding his coat together. His breath hitches, and he manages a somewhat convincing snarl.

“Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you.” she assures him, and the way she looks down on him has him shiver. There's not a hint of fear, not even wariness.  
He grits his teeth, when she pulls the heavy leathers aside, tearing the dried blood clots from his skin.

The woman bites her lip.  
“They just left you like this.” she mutters, more to herself than him, and the Wraith's curiosity comes alive.

Still, his pride gains the upper hand.  
“I don't need your pity.” he hisses, and then winces in pain, as she presses a damp cloth on one of the wounds, the liquid burning his skin.

“It's not pity.” she responds. “It's basic decency.”  
She cleans out the shots, and sews his skin, sticks soft dressings on them. Furrowing his brows, he feels the sting lessening somewhat, now that the wounds are clean and covered. The woman reaches forward, and places her hand on his forehead, then on the sides of his neck.

“You don't seem to have a fever. I was concerned the wounds might've gotten infected.” she lets him know, and withdraws, producing another syringe from her coffer, pulling a clear liquid into it.  
“What is that?” he snaps, when the needle approaches his skin.  
“It's morphine.” she responds nonchalantly. “It'll help with the pain.”

He tenses, trying to move his extremities, but they won't listen to his commands.  
“If this is supposed to entice me to give out information...” he growls, but she shakes her head.  
“It's not.” she assures him. “It took me long enough to get permission to treat you, and believe me, most people on this base aren't very supportive of it.”

Her movements are slow and careful, when she begins closing his coat, intentionally leaving a few clasps open, trying to minimize pressure on the wounds.  
“Why?” he asks, his tone still wary, but less hostile.

She freezes, and closes her eyes briefly.  
“Because I... disagree with this.” She gestures to the entire room. “It would be a different story if they just killed you, but no. Instead, they leave you here to rot in your own blood, and only come by to interrogate you, or take samples. When I signed up for this expedition, this wasn't what I'd expected. Back home, on Earth, this would be considered a war crime.”

Earth. That name has him shift his full attention to her. Hunger flares again, and he groans, helpless, sedated on the ground before his food source.  
“If I get out of this cell,” he breathes. “I will kill you. All of you.”  
“I know.” she simply responds. A faint smirk shifts his lips. Either, she's brave, or stupid. Or both.

The sting of the morphine injection drowns in the pain of his hunger, and his head spins, he loses his sense of gravity for a moment, before catching himself again.  
Her gaze lingers, and he stubbornly returns it, until she speaks again.  
“You're starving, aren't you?” she asks, and he lets out a short bark of joyless laughter.  
“What? Are you offering yourself?” he scoffs, but she regards him with a glance that is entirely serious.

“I'm working on something-...” She cuts herself off, and leans down to him, to be in whisper-range. Her hair tickles him lightly. “It's a vaccine, administered to human and Wraith alike. With it, it would be possible to feed without killing. I was only allowed to run lab simulations on it, and those were successful, if I can convince my superiors...”

His snarl has her backing off.  
“Do not taunt me, human!” he hisses. “I don't need your scenarios of hope, I am not going to play your games!”

With a deep sigh, the woman collects her things, and gets up, her expression iron, as she looks down to him.  
“The relaxant will wear off in a few hours.” she informs him, before turning her back, and leaving.

The Wraith curses internally, but simply closes his eyes, as if to sleep. No human would see his weakness again.

–

“So, how did it go?”  
Elizabeth Weir is sitting on the edge of her desk, looking over to the woman that just entered her office.

“Fairly well, I would say.” She makes it sound like a question. “I talked to him, and he seems, uh... Well, he doesn't trust me.”  
“So, no new epiphanies about the Wraith?” Elizabeth asks, but there's no disappointment in her voice.  
“No. Other than they're prideful, and have a high pain tolerance.” She shrugs a little. “This poor fellow was in enough pain to send any grown man to the ground. I gave him morphine, because... god, Dr. Weir, we can't do this.”

“Do this?” she parrots her, eyebrow raised.  
“We're torturing this Wraith. Honestly, just kill him and be done with it. This is barbaric.” The young woman shakes her head, and takes a deep breath. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...”

“Dr. Abbot.” Elizabeth interrupts her. “It's kind of you to think that way, but this creature – he would give you a slow and very painful death if he could, and not even second-guess it. I understand you, I do, and partially, I even agree. But we're just food to them. We must be above this.”

Dr. Delilah Abbot nods obediently, wrings her hands uncomfortably, and turns to leave.  
“I'll be in my lab.” she offers, not willing to continue this discussion.

Swiftly, she makes her way there, locks the door behind her, rifles through her possessions to find her dictaphone.  
It's late, but she doesn't think she'll be sleeping much tonight, so she elects to remain here, instead of retiring to her quarters.  
Her finger strokes over the mousewheel, as she scrolls through her data, situated comfortably by her desk.

She presses the record button, as her eyes skim the text.

“Private recording of Dr. Abbot, Entry seventy-four.” she begins, keeping her voice hushed. “I have made first contact with the Wraith Prisoner. He was – still is – in terrible shape, suffering from multiple half-healed gunshot wounds, and, likely what I can attribute to his hunger. I do believe that my rudimentary treatment made his pain a bit easier to bear for the time being, but I know that I must do more.

Dr. Weir is uncooperative. I do not understand her hesitation, as a diplomat. Unlike her, I believe that a strife for peace should be our topmost priority.  
The Wraith are victims of their own biology. They must kill, in order to live. I do not deny that this is a problem, a massive one, but I firmly stand by the thesis that everything has a right to live. Of course, their right to live infringes on ours, but that is precisely what I am trying to fix.

If my work is allowed to be completed, if I get the opportunity to test my formula in a real-life scenario,...”

She pauses, and feels a heaviness in her chest. Tears have gathered in the corners of her eyes, and she clears her throat.

“...countless lives would be saved. A war that has went on for tens of thousands of years would come to an end. I would have never dared to hope that this expedition would capture a live Wraith, but now that he's here, I can finally finish my work. I have hope, hope for the future.

Ours, and theirs.”

A soft click signifies the end of the recording, and Delilah sets the device down, her hand clenching around its plastic casing.  
The data still scrolls down on her screen, several pages worth of chemical formulas and theorems. 

The key to the future, she thinks, and leans back in her seat.


	2. Respite

Chapter 2 – Respite

Delilah feels awful.  
Her head spins, heat crawling through her veins, as a fever ravages her. The tiny incision on her upper arm stings, infected, with heavy bruising around the wound.

She's done it. Treated herself with the vaccine she'd developed, and called in sick in advance. A smart move, as she's learning right now.  
There's a small depot in her arm, implanted and programmed to slowly release the formula into her body.

It'll take weeks, according to her estimations.

Her system rebels against it, and the immune suppression medication she's given herself causes her to be incredibly vulnerable to infections and diseases. Sealing herself off in her quarters is the best thing she could have done.

A wave of nausea shakes her, and she rolls over to the side of her bed, to vomit into the bucket she keeps beside herself.  
There's not much more than stomach acid coming out of her by now, and her guts twist painfully, as she retches, shivering in her fever. Her trembling hands knock the bucket over, and she groans.

It must be a really pathetic image she's presenting right now. Pale, sweaty, and covered in barf.

“Wraith better thank me for this.” she mutters, and peels herself out of the sheets, having to steady herself against the wall. She's been lying down for a long time, dehydration and her fever not helping her case much.

She somehow makes it into her bathroom without faceplanting, and strips her sweat and now vomit soaked shirt off, tossing it aside carelessly.  
“Crap.” she swears, and runs her fingertips over her belly, which is now covered in red spots and sores. Some allergic reaction, now, with hardly any protection from her immune system, surfacing.  
Lovely.

She waddles over to the sink, and rinses out her mouth. Swallowing the water makes her retch again, and she stands there, hunched over, seriously wondering if she's going to barf in her sink now. In a stroke of genius, she dashes over to the toilet, and voids her stomach again there.

It's worth it, she thinks, once her body gets used to the serum. She must make sure that it works. Then, she'll work on refining it.  
Basics first. Embellishments later.

Delilah nods to herself, the motion having her double over, and continue vomiting.

–

The morphine has worn off way quicker than the Wraith would have liked. For a while, he'd almost felt a sense of gratitude toward the human woman, as the sedative had numbed his hunger as well. An illusion, of course, his body is still suffering from lack of sustenance, but it helped him endure, stand tall against his captor's taunts and mockery.

Now, he sits on the cold bench again, resting his arms on his knees, and staring at the tips of his shoes. It's so quiet, no sound, no mental contact to anyone. Just the ever-present hum of the shields preventing him from grabbing these insufferable humans through the bars.

His off hand comes to rest below his shoulder, and he gently applies pressure, just to hiss in pain. The wound dressings cushion the wounds under normal circumstances, but when touched, they sting badly. He doesn't have the energy to mend them, and without the archaic treatment a few weeks ago, he would have bled out like a gutted fish.

A thin line of light breaks into the dim room, and the Wraith turns his head to glance at the door. His guards are outside – his attempts in manipulating their minds have led to any guard detail to remain outside.  
So there she stands again, the woman, coffer in hand, and deep shadows under her eyes, alone in the doorway.

She closes the doors, and steps closer, under his cautious observation, sets her coffer down, and opens it. When she rises to her full height again, she is holding a syringe, filled with a pale purple liquid.

“Listen,” she begins. “I know you don't trust me, and I don't ask you too. Honestly, I wouldn't trust anyone if I was in your place. But I wasn't taunting you. I meant every word.”

The hunger flashes bright like fire, when he expends energy to move, get up and walk to the bars. Teeth bared, he looks at her, silently noting how weak she looks, disease riddling her body, or the aftermath thereof.  
His gaze locks on her collarbone, and his hand flexes idly by his side.

“Continue.” he says, doing his best to keep his voice from breaking. Every breath he takes aches.

“I've... the formula I developed.” She pulls her right sleeve up with her free hand, and turns to show him a particularly nasty, reddened cut. “I created a depot that would release it into my system at set intervals. It was a pain – I was completely out for weeks, but now, according to several simulations I've run with my own samples,... It will work. Maybe not without side effects, but it will work.”

He silently watches her, as she raises the syringe, showing it off to him. His thoughts are hardly coherent, all he can focus on is that delicate skin under her neck, and the raw life coursing beneath.

“This is the second part of the vaccine. It may take a few minutes to take effect – trust me, you'll notice – but its incubation period is nothing like mine.” she explains. “I needed to alter a lot for myself, this just contains what you'll need to connect to me. I will disable the field, and inject you with it. And then, I will let you feed on me. But I need you to cooperate. Will you?”

His sensory pits flare. He can sense an erratic emotion from her, not fear, not panic, but something similar. Excitement? No. Anxiety.  
“I will.” he then says, not even thinking about it, half mad from starvation. It's been so long, at this rate, he would agree to anything, just to ease this agony.

She nods briefly, and turns to the small input device by the doors. The shields flash bright blue, and then die down.

The Wraith reaches out, and touches the bars. No painful shock. They're down.

The woman approaches him again, hesitation in her face.  
“You can't tell anyone about this. I don't have permission, and if they find out...” She trails off, then shrugs. “Let's just say, it won't be good for either of us if they do.”

She reaches out, her palm open to him in a demanding gesture.  
“Give me your arm. It'll go right into your pulse point.” she asks of him, and he complies, sticking his off hand through the bars, his feeding hand held tightly closed.

Her hand locks around his, steadying it, as she pushes the needle into his wrist. A searing sensation creeps through his arm, up into his shoulder, as the liquid makes its way to his heart, propelled forward by his pulse.  
He stumbles back, gasping, looking up at her in shock.

“That's normal. Just tell me when the pain fades, okay?”

Drawing breath sharply, he nods. Right now, he has no choice but to trust her words. If this is poison, if it kills him, he will still welcome it, a quick death over months of starving.  
Soon, the burning spreads through his entire body, and he clenches his eyes shut, painfully aware of every fiber of his being, every limb, every vein.

The pain pulses with his heartbeat, but it subsides as fast as it had started.  
Still under labored breathing, he straightens himself, not having noticed how he's curled up under the pain before, and seeks eye contact to her again.

“It has passed.” he informs her, and she nods dutifully.  
“Then you're ready.” she states, and turns to the door controls again. He can tell from the motions of her free arm that she's unbuttoning her shirt further. He can hardly suppress a hungry snarl, when she turns back around to face him.

The cell gate slides open before him.  
No guards, no shields, no bars between them. He's about to creep up to her, when she takes him off guard again, moving toward him quickly, and grabbing him by the wrist.

“They'll get suspicious if I'm in here any longer.” she warns him, and brings his feeding hand up to her chest. He lets her. “Hurry.”

And he does, albeit for entirely different reasons.  
As soon as his palm meets her skin, his feeding mouth clamps against her skin, his claws setting along her collarbone. Now, he can't help but snarl, as he breaks her skin, and connects to her nervous system.

Hunger overcomes him, and he pins her to the wall, teeth bared as he presses hard against her sternum. He barely hears the faint sizzling sound, as he draws her life, feeling her very essence nourish his. It's warmth, not heat spreading in his core, it's pure bliss, relief from weeks of anguish.

She whimpers under his hand, hers locked around his wrist, tears running down her face. As he feeds, the Wraith regains composure, and takes the opportunity to regard her.  
At first, he hadn't really cared about this vaccine of hers, he just wanted to to sate his needs, but now, his interest is piqued.

She's weakening, as he drains her, but her face is as young and fresh as before, her heart beating rapidy against his palm.  
He takes his fill, slowly, steadily decreasing the drain, then stopping it entirely. His hand remains sealed against her chest, as he watches her recover.

She blinks her tears away, struggles to catch her breath, then looks up at him. A brief moment of wonder passes, as he asks himself what he looks like to her now. Freshly fed, strong and tall, pinning her to a wall.

“It worked.” she gasps, delight spreading on her face. “It worked! My formula works!”  
“Were you not certain of it, before you offered your life to me?” he inquires, a light jest in his voice, as he unseals his feeding slit from her, and takes a step back.

“Well-... no. I had my lab tests, but you can't really equate those to a real life situation.” She carefully prods the wound on her chest, gritting her teeth at the pain, before buttoning her shirt, then zipping her jacket up to her neck, to hide the mark.

The Wraith observes her from afar.  
“What now?” he asks, leaving the implications of that question open, and she returns his glance, still smiling gleefully.

“You need to get back in that cell. But not permanently.” she says. “Now that I have concrete evidence that my vaccine works, I can work on the big picture!”  
“The big picture.” he parrots flatly, and she nods excitedly.  
“Listen – the war. It will come to an end. Your people and mine, with this, we can live in peaceful symbiosis! Nobody has to die to this again, and if I convince my superiors of my plan's validity, they'll not only let you go, you'll become the ambassador to spearhead a full-blown revolution in this galaxy!”

Her life still throbs in his veins, when the cell doors slide shut before him again. He remains quiet to her little speech, not quite certain what to think of it yet.  
Infinite food sources, no more resistance from humans is certainly something that would be in his people's best interest, and this woman's enthusiasm only proves her genuinity.

“Human.” he finally speaks to her again. “Tell me your name.”

She was about to leave, and turns to him in surprise.  
“Delilah Abbot.” she responds, a hint of hesitation in her tone.  
“Delilah Abbot.” he repeats, marveling at how this foreign name feels on his tongue.

“Until I can convince Dr. Weir to let me pursue this plan openly, I'll return to you in a set interval, so you don't have to starve.” she promises. “Tell me, how often do you...need this?”

He angles his head. Never would he have expected to have this sort of conversation with a human.  
“Once every two weeks will suffice.” he responds.  
“Right. That'll be enough time for me to recover... Yes. This might just work out.” She nods at him. “I'll see you in two weeks, then.”

Then, she leaves him to his silence again.  
It's easier to bear now.


	3. Person

Chapter 3 – Person

The Wraith had already resigned himself to two full weeks of dull solitude again, when, a few days after his feeding, the doors to his confinement open once more.

It's Delilah Abbot, looking better than what she'd looked like after he was done with her, but still shaky on her legs. He narrows his eyes, and rises from his bench.  
“You are early.” he greets her, and she nods.  
“I'm,... yeah. I actually want to ask you for a favor.” she admits and opens his cell, without much hesitation.

The lack of barrier or safeguarding still thrills him, and, even though he's fed, he feels a prickling in his palm.  
“So ask, then.”

She draws breath hard, and folds her hands.  
“Well, after you fed on me, I slept for a solid thirty-six hours, and I'd already been out sick for the duration of the vaccine's incubation period. People got suspicious, and considerably worried.” she reveals. “I need to refine the formula, to reduce the strain on the system... and the pain. We won't be getting many human volunteers, if the process continues to be as painful as it is.”

The Wraith listens, angling his head, and begins pacing before her.  
“That makes sense.” he admits. “And where does that favor come in?”  
Delilah takes a step toward him, and points to the little coffer she still carries.

“I'm planning to incorporate some parts of that enzyme you use to temporarily strengthen your prey into my formula.” she says. “And for that, I will need a fresh sample.”

Taking his time, he regards her, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction when he notices how uncomfortable his silence is to her. He opens his palm, and gives his feeding slit a good look, before flaring it open, and showing it to her.  
“I cannot force it forward.” he explains to her. “If you want it, you will have to earn it.”

“Um,...” She clears her throat, an eyebrow raised. “How?”

He offers her a toothy smile, walks back to his bench, and beckons her closer.  
“I can tell that you have no fear in you, simply by the fact that you opened this cell.” he says, and takes a seat. “Come sit with me.”

There's a hint of hesitation, but she complies, walks past the iron bars, and sits down beside him.  
“Now what?” she asks, overplaying her discomfort expertly.  
The Wraith turns his palm up, and offers it to her.

“Touch it. It will respond to stimulation.” he tells her, and instantly sees a dark flush on her face, commenting on it with a brief chuckle. “Do humans associate everything with sex?”  
Her flush darkens even more.  
“No, but, well... Yes, we do.” She shakes her head, as if to banish a thought, and reaches for his outstretched hand. “It's more your choice of words.”  
“Another benefit of my cooperation with you. You amuse me to no end.” he lets her know, catching a slight shift in mood, as she responds with a smile.

“Glad to help.” she says, holding his hand with her left, her index finger hovering aimlessly over the slit. “So, what do I do? Do I just poke it?”  
“I would not recommend that.” he responds, a bit more serious. “Sharpness, and pressure will hurt me. It is very sensitive.”  
She nods slowly.  
“That's why you wear those finger guards, huh.” she mutters, not really making it sound like a question.  
The pad of her finger shyly runs along the outer membranes, and the sensation jolt along his arm, and down his spine. As he involuntarily curls his fingers, she looks up to him.

“Sorry. Did I hurt you?” she asks, and he lightly shakes his head.  
“Be at ease.” he assures her, and she nods, taking a deep breath.  
“Right.” she huffs. “How long will this take?”  
“Not long.” he responds, relaxing the tension in his fingers again.

Her body temperature is much higher than his, so her hand holding his feels incredibly warm. Her finger, however, trailing along the organ, does not. He knows, the thin skin enveloping the tissue inside heats up much more than the rest of him.  
Now, that he isn't actively starving anymore, the inner folds are covered in thin mucous, his pulse detectable through the blood vessels running close to the surface. He catches himself wondering if she can feel her own life force lingering.

“Is there anything sharp in there?” she asks, mildly concerned, eliciting another smile from him.  
“Yes. I have a stinger, which I use to break skin.” he informs her. “But do not worry. You won't come in contact with it, unless I feed.”

She hums in acknowledgement, and lightly presses her knuckles against the slit, just gentle enough not to hurt. Without much conscious input, his feeding organ parts further, and seals against her hand, suckling lightly. Delilah looks taken aback by this, and he feels a sinew tense in her hand supporting his. Responding, he actively unseals the slit, and lets her pull back.

The tingling sensation is stronger now, and he would have loved her to continue, but there's dampness pooling in his palm.  
Delilah's face shows a brief expression of shock, as she pulls back and sees the bright red enzyme in his hand.

“It's not your blood.” he assures her, and she nods, exhaling audibly.  
“Of course not. It's too bright.” she agrees. “Is that it?”  
“Yes.” he confirms, and she scrambles for her equipment, sucking the enzyme off his hand with a syringe, lacking a needle.  
It's not much, but she doesn't complain.

“That will do. Thank you.” she says, and gets up, his gaze follows her as she moves.  
“You seem uncomfortable.” he states, not mentioning that he can smell her emotional state.

“Uh, well...” She laughs nervously. “This was not really what I expected, you know.”  
“What were you expecting, then?” he inquires, very willing to draw this out, before surrendering back to solitude and boredom.  
“Something like drawing blood. I don't know.” She shrugs almost apologetically. “This was oddly intimate.”  
“Perhaps.” he admits. “It was a show of trust from my side. You could have caused me a great deal of pain. It is not my fault that your kind sexualizes everything. Even things that are literally lethal.”

“Not to me, at least not anymore.” she counters, and points to the scabbed traces of his last feeding. “Besides, can you really blame me?”

“Yes.” he flatly responds, delighted by her exasperated expression. She throws her hands up, sighs and then shakes her head in defeat.  
“You're messing with me.” she accuses him, and he gets up as well, walking toward her, mostly to test if she will flinch.  
She doesn't.

“What else can I do to entertain myself?” he says, gesturing to the empty, bleak cell. She gives him a guilty, shameful look.  
“I guess you got a point there.” she mutters, and glances to the door. “Hey, can you read?”

“Of course I can read.” he responds, almost a little offended.  
“Yes, I mean... can you read our language?” she specifies, and he nods.  
“Wraith is based on Ancient. I'm certain I could piece things together.”

“No, no... not Ancient. I mean English. Roman letters.” She unlatches the tiny piece of plastic on her uniform and shows it to her. “Like this. Can you read this?”

He leans in, squinting slightly. The letters are rounder, smaller than Ancient or Wraith, and he has to give up.  
“No.” he responds, and she nods eagerly.  
“Would you like to learn it? I can give you a key, Wraith to English, English to Wraith. It's just letters, not vocabulary and grammar, after all.” Suddenly, she sounds oddly excited again.”Then, I could bring you some of my reading material, just to kill time. Does that sound appealing.”

Not particularly, he thinks, but it's better than nothing.  
“My boredom is not deadly.” he says. “Why do you care?”

He's got her off guard. Clearing her throat, she struggles with her response, and shrugs.  
“Well, I don't see you as an asset I simply need to keep alive, you know.” she finally articulates.  
“What do you see me as, then?” he pries, but she's prepared for that question.  
“A person.” she flatly says, and returns to the door controls, to lock him back up. “I'll come by, when I have your reading material ready.”

He backs off to his bench again, and slowly sits down, as the doors close.

–

“Dr. Weir? May I come in?”

Elizabeth looks up from her work, and wordlessly beckons her in. Delilah nods, comes in and closes the glass door behind herself.  
“It's awfully late.” Elizabeth notes, giving her suspicious look.  
“Oh, yes, sorry about that. It's important.” Dr. Abbot straightens herself, and establishes eye contact. “There is something I have to discuss with you.”

Setting her tablet down, Elizabeth leans back and crosses her arms.  
“Go ahead?” she encourages.

“I may have committed a, uh, slight breach of protocol, and... your direct orders, Dr. Weir.” She speaks quickly, to avoid being interrupted. “I finished my vaccine, and I tested it on myself. No, please, let me finish. Look – It works. I was fed on, and I lived. The prisoner has agreed to work with me, hell, he's even let me sit beside him, and take enzyme samples without even showing a hint of aggression. Just now, I've visited him and lent him my favorite novel to read. This is huge! We might be able to end this conflict, and save so many lives, if you just let me continue doing what I started!”

Elizabeth takes a deep breath, trying to process the amount of information raining down on her.  
“Slow down, Doctor.” she asks. “You've let that Wraith feed on you?”  
Responding to the slight alarm in her voice, Dr. Abbot unzips her jacket, showing off the mark on her chest, scabbed, dark red, looking a lot more brutal than it actually is.

“Oh my god” Elizabeth utters, leaning forward, to inspect the wound closer.  
“It's nothing. I mean, it hurt like hell, but aside from exhaustion, there seem to be no lasting effects.” Dr. Abbot assures her. “He's well fed, and I'm alive. That is what I wanted! You greenlit my work on the vaccine, and now that I have evidence of it's validity, Dr. Weir, I ask you for your support again.”

Elizabeth sets her palms down on the table, and takes a moment to gather her thoughts.  
“Alright. I can see the value in your work, Doctor.” she finally says. “But you should not have done this behind my back-...”  
“I tried to get your permission, and you turned me down.” she reminds her.  
“Yes, because I'm not about to let someone throw themselves at a starving Wraith, based on lab simulations!” Elizabeth counters sharply.  
“Exactly!” Dr. Abbot sighs and shakes her head. “I want the Wraith to be confined to my quarters. A change of scenery, and... well, the illusion of freedom will ensure his continued cooperation. I need resources to produce more, better versions of the vaccine, and I want Dr. Beckett on my team for this. If anything goes wrong, I take full responsibility.”

Still shaking her head, Elizabeth gets up, pointing at her unruly subordinate like an angry teacher.  
“No more secrets, Dr. Abbot, I want complete transparency, a detailed report every week.” she demands, and the Doctor nods eagerly. “I will also want to see you vaccine in action, before I give you this permission.”

Abbot shifts a little.  
“The Wraith is scheduled to feed every two weeks, but I'm sure he won't mind an additional meal, for demonstration's sake.” she says, and Elizabeth nods.  
“Tomorrow morning, 0800 sharp.” she orders, and sees a bright smile unfold on Abbot's face.

“You won't be disappointed.” she guarantees, and hurries out of her office.  
Sitting back down, Dr. Weir leans into her chair, and rubs her temples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say how incredibly overwhelmed and touched I am by the support this work is getting? Because I am. Holy shit.


	4. Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god? I would like to 'officially' thank my readers for their very vocal support like... holy shit. That's literally the lifesblood of my creativity, and hell, you guys've been fueling it.

Chapter 4 – Gift

0800 sharp.  
Delilah is standing right by the door that leads to the Wraith's cell, trying to avoid the guards' glances, as she waits for Dr. Weir to arrive.  
When she finally does, she isn't alone.

Dr. Beckett is with her, and Major Sheppard as well. Beckett greets her with an uneasy smile, Sheppard just nods. He's armed, his index finger idly taps the flank of his P90. Wondering whether he was here on his own request, or on Weir's, Delilah straightens her posture.

“Good Morning.” she greets, and Weir steps forth.  
“Shall we?” she asks, and Delilah nods, swipes her hand before the door sensor.

The doors slide open with a tiny hiss, and Delilah leads the group inside. There's a look of confusion, even betrayal on the Wraith's face, when he recognizes Sheppard, and a low growl emanates from him. Hurrying to defuse the situation before it can escalate, Delilah quickly moves forward, obscuring the Wraith's vision on Sheppard.

“It's okay. You're okay.” she assures him, hands raised in a reassuring gesture, but he remains tense. There's a completely different context now – the faint hint of comfort and familiarity she's sensed on him before is gone. His posture is completely stiff, and his eyes dart about the room warily.

“I spoke to Dr. Weir last night.” she opens. “Confessed everything, and explained what we've been planning. She wants me to prove my work to her.”  
“Prove it?” he parrots, his restless gaze pausing on her.  
“Yes. Listen, things will get easier for you soon. I've requested a few things for you, and if we convince her right now – which we will -, she'll grant my requests.” Delilah hurries to explain to him, and he leans to the side, giving Sheppard a dirty look.

“Why must he be here?” he asks, his voice sharp and hostile.  
“Figured I'd get a front row seat for the show.” Sheppard casually responds. “And if I get the impression that Dr. Abbot is under some funky mind control, I'll put a bullet through your skull.”  
Delilah's hands tense to fists, and she bites her tongue to prevent herself from snapping at the man.

“I'm not. You'll see.” she instead says, and looks over her shoulder, to the guards that have followed them inside, “Open the cell.”  
They exchange a looks, and one steps forward.  
“Ma'am?” he asks Dr. Weir, but Delilah responds in her stead.  
“Look, I've been alone with him a number of times, he won't try anything funny. Just do it.”

“If he does, he dies.” Sheppard adds, and nods to the guards. “Do it.”

Delilah side-eyes Dr. Beckett, who hasn't said a thing since they'd entered, and simply observes the situation with a look of great concern, and a hint of horror.  
The cell opens and the shield drops. For a few seconds, she can actually feel the present personnel collectively hold their breaths, as the barrier separating them from the Wraith falls.

The Wraith makes no attempt to move, and establishes eye contact to Delilah.  
“You are putting my life on the line.” he tells her, and she shakes her head.  
“They won't hurt you, because my vaccine works. We're here to prove that.” She steps to him, and takes his hand.  
He doesn't resist, but his organ doesn't seal against her skin, when she places it on her chest.

“Trust me.” she whispers to him, and his pupils widen briefly at that. She feels his hand twitch under hers, as she holds it in place.  
“You ask a lot.” he comments, and his feeding mouth seals.

Pain hits her with a slight delay, she can hear Beckett gasp, before the feeling of having her life drained clouds all her senses. Liquid fire runs through her veins, and she whimpers as she burns. Her nerves cry for this to stop, her heart hammers in protest, but she endures. A trickle of blood runs down her chin, a result of her digging her teeth into her lower lip to stifle a cry.

The world goes white for a moment, and within seconds, the pain is gone, only the faint burning sensation of an open wound. She feels pressure against her back, and it takes her a moment to realize that it's the Wraith's other hand, preventing her from collapsing.  
She struggles, noticing that her knees have given in.

“Easy.” he orders her, are carefully maneuvers her to the bench in his cell, letting her sit down.

“Doctor?” Sheppard asks, mild alarm in his voice, and Delilah hears him step a bit closer.  
“I'm fine.” she manages to press forth.  
“You don't look fine.” Sheppard responds, hes glance switching between her and the Wraith.

“I fed on her not too long ago.” the Wraith says, deliberately not turning to face Sheppard. “She has not had time to recover properly.”  
“Beckett.” Dr. Weir says, and the man approaches the open cell, equipment bag in hand, and stops, just by the gate.

The Wraith does something very close to an annoyed eyeroll, and steps aside, to the other end of the cell.  
“If I make one wrong move, I will die.” he says, now addressing Beckett. “Do you really think I would attack you now?”

Beckett mutters a barely audible “'scuse me”, and hurries inside, sitting down on the bench next to Delilah.  
He produces a flashlight and a blood pressure gauge from his bag, and checks her pupil dilation first. Delilah squints at the sudden light, but manages to keep her eye open.  
Beckett nods, applying the gauge's cuff to her upper arm.

She makes a displeased sound, when it tightens painfully around her arm, but a few seconds later, the pressure subsides.  
“Blood pressure is a bit low.” Beckett reports, trying his best to ignore the Wraith in the corner. “Pulse is normal. She really is okay, just exhausted.”

“I told you, it works.” Delilah huffs, but her sulk is quickly broken, when the Wraith approaches her again.  
“I do not need this.” he says, showing her his bloody palm. Beckett cringes. “Yet.”

“What? Are you going to throw it up?” Delilah asks, noticing how ridiculous that question is, just seconds after it leaves her lips. The Wraith pauses to give her a judgmental look.  
“No.” he responds, enunciating it clearly, as if he was talking to a child.

Then, he sits by her other side, and gingerly places his hand back on her collarbone.  
The feeding organ latches, but there's no sting of breaking skin this time, and no earth-shattering pain. Instead, warmth floods Delilah's system, creeping through every vein. Whatever residual ache she'd felt, immediately fades.  
She hears Sheppard's gun cock, and quickly shifting to shield the Wraith with her body.

“Don't shoot!” she presses forth. “He's not...hurting me.”

The Wraith snarls, and his hand retreats so fast, one could think he'd burned himself on her. Delilah stares at him in confusion, slowly shaking her head.  
“What the hell did you just do to me?” she breathes, while her body is flooded with a sense of weightlessness.  
“It is called the Gift of Life.” he explains, and opens his eyes. She hadn't even noticed that they'd been closed until now. “And it is considered a great honor to receive.”

“He returned what he took.” Beckett says, a sense of wonder in his tone. “Look at this, the wound's completely healed! Not even any scar tissue!”  
Delilah furrows her brows, and traces her fingertips over her chest, finding nothing but smooth skin, and a bit of smeared blood there.

“You can lower your weapon now, Major Sheppard.” There's nothing but scorn in the Wraith's voice. “You do not get to kill me today.”  
“Well, there's always tomorrow, isn't there?” Sheppard jabs back, and shifts his attention to Beckett. “You said she's completely fine?”

“Yes, absolutely!” Beckett confirms, nodding vigorously. “Dr. Abbot, your formula, if you don't mind, I'd love to-...”  
“Yes! Yes, totally!” Delilah's voice is slightly shrill from excitement. “I actually requested you to be assigned to my project, Carson, so yes, you may see it!”

“So, what is your verdict?” The Wraith inclines his head forward, and clasps his hands behind his back as he gets up, taking slow, calculated steps toward Dr. Weir.

“Dr. Abbot risked both her life and her career for you.” she responds, showing not a single hint of submission, as he gets closer. “You better thank her.”  
“I already have.” he counters, and angles his head. “Your verdict. Dr. Weir.”

“You will stay in her quarters, as she requested. We will stun you, outfit you with an ankle bracelet that tracks your location, and take you there.” she explains to him with calm professionalism. “You are not to leave the room without Dr. Abbot's supervision. If I get even the slightest idea that you might be up to no good, you will be back in this cell quicker than you'll realize. Clear?”

The Wraith smiles, looking about as charming as a life-sucking space vampire can, and nods.  
“Very clear.”

“Lovely.” Sheppard exclaims, grabs the stun gun he's looted off him during his capture, and shoots the Wraith with it.

–

When he comes to consciousness, the Wraith immediately notices the shift in environment. Instead of the cold, hard floor of his cell, he finds himself on soft sheets and pillows.  
There's only dim light, starlight, in fact, coming in from the large windows, and he can hear the sea from the outside.

“Ah. You're awake.”

Delilah's voice draws his attention and he sits up, his head still spinning from being stunned. Reaching for his temples, he turns to face her.  
“Was this really necessary?” he inquires, and she offers an apologetic smile.  
“Sheppard said, he doesn't want you knowing the layout of the city too well.” she excuses it, and gets up from her desk. “We did it.”

“I suppose we did.” he responds, and stops for a moment to ponder how strange it feels to talk about himself and a human as 'we'.  
“Lighten up, will you? Things are only going to get better from now on.” she says, and sits down beside him, on what he assumes is her bed.  
“I had somewhat low standards to begin with.” he notes sourly, but secretly agrees with her. Everything is better than that cell.

She smiles conciliatorily, and lets silence fall, looking up at her ceiling for some unknown reason. The Wraith regards her curiously.

“Say,” she eventually speaks again. “did Sheppard really name you 'Steve'?”  
He involuntarily hisses, and nods begrudgingly.  
“I do not know what it means, but I can't imagine it is anything flattering.” he responds, almost upset at her amused expression.  
“Well, it doesn't mean anything. It's just a really common human name.” she lets him know. “So common, it's comical to address an age-old creature such as you with it.”

“I figured.” he mutters.  
“He said, he gave you that name because you refused to give him your real one.” she continues, and the Wraith feels a sense of discomfort arise.  
“Names mean a lot.” he responds. “Sheppard is my enemy. I would not give my name to an enemy.”

“Do you consider me an enemy?” she asks, and he turns his head to face her. “I mean, you haven't told me either.”  
He closes his eyes for a moment, then inhales deeply to answer.  
“You haven't asked.”  
“Would you like to tell me your name?” she then asks, making it sound oddly solemn, almost as if she understood the weight of this question. Maybe she does.

'A person.' her words echo in his mind, she sees him as a person. The taste of her life still lingers, the rush of the Gift does too. Perhaps it's about time for him to start treating her like a person, too. An Equal.

“My name” he says, feeling off about verbalizing it for the first time in his long, long lifetime. “is Seeker.”

“Seeker,” she parrots him, just as he had before. “it's a pleasure to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using the Wraith naming conventions from the Legacy books.


	5. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a giant nerd with too much love for my projects, so here, have a playlist for this one  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLbSkduxaRhPiBuHrCctfuR-UyqfQx_PaH
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for your continued support! I can't even begin to describe how motivating it is!

Chapter 5 – Comfort

The sound of running water has Delilah almost dozing off. Even though Seeker had restored her life, she feels awfully worn out, tired. Her limbs feel like someone poured cement into them and her eyes burn with weariness.

Her new roommate is showering, has been doing so for almost half an hour now. She can't blame him, after being forced to sit around for weeks on end. Wraith are rather cleanly creatures, she muses.  
Allowing herself a deep sigh, she forces her eyes back on the tablet in her lap, her index finger slowly trailing over the surface, so scroll the text.  
She's been rereading her formulas and calculations again, looking for small improvements to make before presenting it to Dr. Beckett tomorrow, but there's little she can come up with now.

“Should you not rest?”

Seeker's low, multifaceted voice nearly has her throwing her tablet across the room. She hadn't noticed the sound of the shower dying down, nor has she heard the bathroom door unlocking.  
He standing behind her at a respectful distance, giving her a questioning look in response to her reaction.

“You spooked me.” she explains herself, and turns to face him. “Almost forgot you were here.”  
“Do I leave that little of an impression?” he asks, obviously a rhetorical question, and shifts his weight to his left foot.  
He's wearing simple cloth garments, supplied by Atlantis, his heavy leathers sit neatly folded on the edge of Delilah's bed.  
A smile creeps up on her face when she notices the faint, but familiar lavender smell on him – he's been using her conditioner.

He looks odd, less imposing, now that he's essentially wearing pajamas, and having his damp hair tied up into a loose bun. Not really what one imagines when trying to picture an ancient, terrifying alien.

“You took an awfully long time in there.” she states, and he clasps his hands behind his back; she presumes that's the default, casually polite stance among Wraith.  
“It has been some time since I've had the opportunity to groom myself.” he admits. “And dried blood is difficult to scrub off.”

Delilah lightly pats the space beside her, and Seeker follows her wordless invitation to sit with her.  
“This is really strange – not in a bad way, of course.” she admits. “Up until now, I don't think I could have imagines a Wraith doing mundane things like that.”  
“Like bathing.” he says, in flat deadpan. “Did you assume we were self-cleaning?”  
“No, but-... Well, it wouldn't have surprised me, to be quite honest.” She chuckles a little and rubs her eyes. “I also couldn't really picture you wearing anything but that coat.”

“You have not seen me wearing anything else.” he justifies it.  
“Makes sense.” Delilah shrugs at him, and pauses.

This feels odd. Very odd. It's just about her first conversation with Seeker that doesn't revolve around the vaccine.  
Small Talk with a Wraith.  
She clears her throat, and dares to proceed.

“Say, did you read the book I gave you?” she asks, and his gaze flickers over to her desk, where the things she's given him sit.  
“I have begun reading it.” he responds, side-eyeing her.  
“What do you think about it? Do you like it?” she inquires further, now genuinely curious. The book she's given him is actually The Fellowship of the Ring, simply because she found the idea of a Wraith reading classic fantasy hilarious.

“I cannot say. It confuses me.” he responds. “The world it describes is intricate, but makes little sense to me. I presume, that is the case because it was written by and for humans. Although, it did give something to ponder.”  
“That being?”

There's a light, metallic sound, when he folds his hands in his lap.  
“Humans are people.” he bluntly states. “For the entirety of my life, I have believed that we were the only sentient species to know the concept of fiction. I was wrong.”  
“Huh.” Delilah comments, feeling a sting of guilt. She's actually assumed the same thing, just vice versa.

“I would be very intrigued in hearing your thoughts on Wraith literature.” he adds. “It must be just as foreign and off as yours is to me.”  
“Probably. Fiction is a representation of the society that created it.” she says, glad to have something more substantial to contribute to the conversation. “It often comments on it. Social commentary on Wraith society must be very interesting.”  
“It is. I spend much of my leisure time reading.” he reveals, then pauses briefly. “Or, I used to. Before my capture.”

Again, guilt stings and Delilah tries to overplay it with a smile.  
“Well, if all goes according to plan, you'll be able to return soon.” she quickly says, internally marveling at the fact that she's attempting to comfort a homesick Wraith. “And when you do, maybe you can show me your world.”

His expression is unreadable when he regards her, head slightly angled. After a few moments, he responds:  
“Maybe so. I would like that.”

–

Dr. Beckett is already sitting by his workstation, a mug of coffee by his side, reading over Delilah's data, when she enters. He looks up, greeting her with his usual smile, and gets up to meet her by the door.

“Good morning,” he says, a hint of enthusiasm in his voice. “I've been going through your notes, and I have to say, your formula may be revolutionary, but it is very... very bold.”  
“...Morning.” she responds. “Do elaborate?”

Carson nods, and gestures her to follow him back to his desk, then points out a few of her calculations on his screen.  
“Look.” he says. “Your idea to prevent the Wraith from stripping this particular part from their prey is the basis of your serum, but it has no safeguard on replenishable energy at all. Your friend must've been really careful with you, because if too much of that strength is drained, your heart might give out.”

He looks at her with mild concern.  
“I suspected that already, which is why I took your blood pressure. He didn't take enough to endanger you, but I presume, not every Wraith is going to be this careful.” he continues and Delilah nods slowly.  
“I know, I've been trying to work around that.” She unzips her laptop bag, and sets the device down on Carson's desk. “Look at this.”

Carson sits down again, and pulls his chair closer to her to be able to read.  
“I hadn't included this bit in the data I gave you, because it's not done yet, but it might solve that issue.” she explains. “This data is based on an enzyme sample I took for Se-.. Steve. I'm trying to create a gene modification that allows the human body to produce it in smaller doses, permanently, which would strengthen their bodies significantly. Maybe enough to negate that effect?”

“Bloody insane, that's what this is.” Carson breathes, skimming over the text. “I wouldn't dabble much in the human genetic makeup, really, if it weren't this important. Maybe if we deconstruct the enzyme into tiny building blocks, we could sift through what we actually need.”

“Because of the addictive properties, yeah.” Delilah sighs, and runs a hand through her hair. “Then again, a safeguard is also an option. In fact, I think we should realize both, to make the feeding process as safe as possible.”

“Right.” Carson claps his hands, and rolls up his sleeves. “I have all your samples here, and if we need more...”  
“... we know who to ask. Let's get to work.” Delilah beams at him. She's more than happy to be able to work freely on this project after all.

–

“Delilah, dear?”  
Carson's voice has her looking up.  
“Mh?” she hums, peeking over her laptop's screen to him.

“Have you eaten anything yet?” he asks her and she shrugs.  
“I can't eat in the mornings, no appetite. Why?”  
“Because you're the one keeping a Wraith alive, and you shouldn't be reckless with your body's resources.” He sounds more like a concerned parent than a doctor. “We've been at it for four hours. It's time for lunch.”

She sighs in defeat, and closes her laptop.  
“Good point. Mess hall?”

A quick walk later, her and Carson Beckett sit together, chatting idly over soggy lasagna. The exchange of information about their progress has quickly turned into small talk, and Delilah finds it incredibly easy to hold a conversation with this man.

“I've been meaning to ask how your evening was.” he asks her, after taking a sip from his drink. “Now that you have a guest.”

“It'd surprise you, but the Wraith is actually a really pleasant roommate.” she lets him know, and grins. “He reads a lot, ever since I taught him English script. Or rather, gave him what he needs to learn it by himself.”  
“You did?” Carson asks, raising his brows in surprise. “What does a Wraith even read?”  
“Well, according to him, his kind does write fiction.” she relays to him. “I gave him Lord of the Rings. He thinks it's weird.”

“What's he said about the Ringwraith?” Carson asks, making Delilah snort into her orange juice. After a brief coughing fit, she shakes her head.  
“Haven't asked him.” she admits. “But now that you mention it, I absolutely should.”

Carson smiles warmly.  
“Do let me know what he says.” he requests and leans back, pushing his plate further into the table's center. “This really isn't their best meal yet.”

Stabbing the food with her fork, Delilah nods. Hopelessly overcooked, but he's right, she does have to eat. So, she powers through the soggy noodles and the unseasoned sauce.

“Y'know,” she says, after swallowing a mouthful of lasagna. “I don't think the Ringwraith are what he'd identify most with. He said he hasn't read much of it yet, but I do think he's more of an Elf.”  
Carson grins.  
“It's the hair, isn't it?”

“No,... well, yes, but not only that.” Delilah intends to talk as much as she can, to avoid eating her gross lunch. “Ageless, ethereal beings that are above mortals in every way? One would think, Wraith see themselves kinda like that.”  
“Elves don't eat humans, if I remember correctly.” Carson jests and Delilah shrugs offhandedly.  
“Well, when we're done, Wraith won't either.” she counters, and has to lightly giggle at the idea of green space elves.

–

The day progresses fast, with both her and Carson focused entirely on the task at hand. On her way back to her quarters, Delilah almost feels excited to interact with Seeker again, not only to share her progress on the vaccine.  
The doors slide open at her command, and she finds her living space empty. A brief jolt of panic hits her, until she sees that the balcony doors are open.

He stands there, leaning against the railings, arms crossed, looking up at the night sky.

“I'm home.” she announces herself, and he shifts his attention to her.  
“At last.” he comments. “I was getting bored already.”

His hair is dry, and perfectly straight again. He's tied it back again, and Delilah recognizes one of her hairties. Again, she has to grin. Sharing hair products with a Wraith. Lovely.

“Sorry about that. I didn't really pay attention to the time when I was working.” she apologizes, and joins him outside. “Enjoying the view?”

“Quite.” he responds. “The sky is remarkably clear on this planet.”  
“It's uninhabited. No pollution.” she says. “I've only been to the mainland a couple of times, but I've been dying to explore it some more.”  
“This galaxy is alien to you.” he says, neutral in tone. “I can understand your curiosity.”

“A lot of plants and animals are extinct on my homeworld.” she reveals. “This one is largely untouched by any technologically advanced species. Maybe I can find specimen of extinct species, and one day bring them back to Earth. Discover new things, and learn about them. That's why I came to Atlantis, really.”

“Commendable.” he comments. “I have a great respect for those in pursuit of knowledge.”  
“Thank you?” She's not prepared for compliments, and her odd tone has him looking at her.  
“You seem surprised.”

She smiles nervously and shrugs.  
“Well, I-...” Shaking her head, she scraps her sentence, and starts anew. “Humans getting compliments from Wraith isn't really a common thing, is it?”  
“No.” he admits. “But I am not complimenting you based on your humanity, I am complimenting you based on your scientific eagerness.”

Pausing, she looks up to him, then nods knowingly.  
“Starting to see me as a person, right?” she assumes, and he nods, entirely serious.  
“That's good. That's really good.”

A cool breeze sweeps over the city, and a shiver runs through Delilah's body. She turns to go back inside.  
“You know, maybe I could convince Dr. Weir to let me take you on an expedition to the mainland. Little change in scenery.” she suggests, as she leaves the balcony, and feels him follow.  
“I would much appreciate that.” he responds, passing her and sitting by her desk.

Delilah sees him reach up to her bookshelf, and pull out a book with a bookmark in it. She squints, to read the title.

'The Fellowship of the Ring, by J. R. R. Tolkien', the cover says. Delilah smiles mildly.


	6. Excursion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly, my most dramatic Chapter yet. Character development, y'all!

Chapter 6 – Excursion

The small, digital alarm clock on Delilah's nightstand is showing 0604. Seeker glares at it. Yesterday, it had rung at 0600, woken her up, and started her day.  
He assumes, it fills the same function as the alarms on his Hive, to make sure that everyone makes it to their respective workspaces in time, so he stares at it over the edge of his book.

It's not ringing.

With an exasperated sigh, he places his bookmark between the pages, and closes the book, to stride over.  
His off hand hovers over the woman's sleeping form, hesitating. Anything could be seen as a sign of aggression, and her vouching for him is the only thing keeping him alive. Touching her in her sleep is a very bad idea.

His gaze flickers up to her face, and he sees her furrow her brows. Still not waking up. He looks back at the alarm clock. 0607. She's going to be late.  
Very daintily, her lets his hand rest on her shoulder, and gives her a shake.  
She groans, and stirs a little, shifting, and shaking his hand off. He angles his head, and looks for signs of awakening, just to be disappointed.

Again he shakes her by the shoulder, a bit harder now.  
“Delilah.” he says, keeping his voice low, to avoid startling her.

She groans a second time, and raises her hand to rub her eyes.  
“...Seeker? What in god's name... What time is it?” she mutters, her speech slurring a bit.  
He picks up her alarm clock and shows it to her.  
“It didn't ring. You are late.” he informs her, and she flips into her back, sighing deeply.

“No-... Okay, you probably don't know this, but we only work five days a week.” she informs him. “I don't have to wake up early today.”  
He sets the clock back down, and backs off.

“Apologies, then.” he says, feeling an odd sense of shame for not knowing something this basic to human society. Then again, he's rationally aware that he could not have known.  
“It's fine, you meant well.” she assures him, and peels herself out of her bed. “Might as well stay up. I'll be in the bathroom.”

He nods, and watches her disappear in the small chamber, locking the door behind herself.   
Looking down on himself, he straightens his cloth shirt, and steps outside again. The cool air gives him the illusion of freedom, and, despite his contempt for the Ancients, he does admit that their architecture is quite impressive.

It smells of salt out there, and the constant murmur of the waves hitting the piers of Atlantis has a calming effect on him. He lifts his head, to let the wind hit his face, and closes his eyes.

After remaining like this for a good amount of time, he picks up the sound of Delilah's voice from inside.

“...Please, what can he do? He can't fly a jumper, and the Gate is in Atlantis... Yes, I know he could kill me, but I'm pretty sure he won't. Dr. Weir, I sleep in the same room as him, if he wanted to kill me, he had plenty of opportunity to do so until now!”

She gives him an offhanded wave, when he enters, and presses the device harder into her ear.

“Look, there's no harm in it, and I think it'd do us both good. Because of he doesn't go stir-crazy in here, I will.” Delilah's voice sounds harsh, but she smiles at him, as she speaks. He angles his head at her and gives her a questioning look.

There's a moment of silence, in which Dr. Weir, presumably on the other end of the conversation speaks, and Delilah nods periodically.  
“Right. I can live with that. Thank you.”

She plucks the radio from her ear, and sets it down on her nightstand, then turns toward him.  
“Good news. We're going in a trip.” she informs him, and he raises his chin.  
“To where?” he inquires.  
“Remember what I said last evening? We're spending the weekend on the mainland.” She points at his leathers, still folded by the foot of her bed. “Better put these back on. I'll go requisition all the equipment we need.”

“Why would we stay on the mainland overnight?” he asks, considerably confused. “You have everything you need right here.”  
“Exactly. It'll be a thrill, to sleep under the open sky and all that. We call it camping. It's recreational.” she explains, half shouting from the bathroom, and he hears her rip a brush through her wet hair. “Besides, you look really uncomfortable, I though you could use some downtime, away from the city.”

He sits back down at his spot, by her desk. She does have a point, being confined to these quarters isn't ideal, but since the alternative would be his cell, he hasn't complained.

When she returns, her hair is tied into a ponytail, and she hurries past him.   
“I'll be back soon, to arrange everything. You go change in the meantime.”

Before he can say anything in response, she leaves.

Remaining there frozen for a few seconds, he processes what had just happened, then finally moves to put on his coat again.

–

“So, this might be somewhat problematic.” is the first thing Delilah says, when she re-enters her quarters. Seeker, back in his familiar attire, looks up to her, fearing the worst already.

She holds up a sheet of fabric.  
“Well, I got everything ready, the supplies, the jumper, everything. But, Sheppard insisted I blindfold you on the way to the jumper bay.” Her voice has an apologetic quality. “He's still adamant about not letting you learn the layout of Atlantis, so I'll have to lead you.”

He sighs. Troublesome, and degrading. One day, he's going to get back at Sheppard for this.  
“Fine.” he nearly snarls at her, unintentionally aggressive, but she seems nonplussed.  
Delilah stops after having walked up to him, and shakes her head.  
“Sit down. I can't reach your head.”

He takes a moment to look down to her, before reluctantly obeying.  
The fabric is supple, and snugly fits around his head, obstructing his vision, without being too tight. Seeker feels utterly ridiculous, and nearly flinches, when he feels Delilah take his feeding hand without any qualms.  
Her fingers briefly brush against the organ, and he tenses, but doesn't indicate it to her.

“Alright, let's go. Don't worry, we'll take this off as soon as we reach the bay.” she informs him, as she leads him to the door.   
He responds with an indecipherable rumble. Being led around like this, so vulnerable in enemy territory is nothing short of a nightmare, but he pushes through, not even sure why he tolerates this.

“I had the ankle cuff deactivated for the time being, so don't worry about that either.” she lets him know.  
“Good.” he simple responds, letting his sensory pits flare, detecting a more open flow of air – not a hallway, something bigger.  
There are many voices, chattering about, and falling silent when he approaches. His hand tightens around hers, and she returns the pressure, a reassuring gesture, he assumes.

It gets quiet, and their steps echo more, the gently tug on his arm subsides. He stops, and hears Delilah close in, getting on her tiptoes, to yank the loose blindfold off.

They're in a large room, open at the top, standing in front an open lanthean ship. She boards it, and he follows her.

“You can fly this?” he inquires.  
“Mh. I have the Ancient gene, after all. I'm by no means a fighter pilot, but I can have it go in a straight line.” she tells him, as usual, very eager to reveal information. He's attempted to mimic her before, but this way of talking simply doesn't come naturally to him.

He takes the seat next to her, glancing down at the unfamiliar interface, while the ship comes alive under Delilah's hands. She's done this before, he can tell. There's confidence in the way she operates the controls, and he mentally compares it to the Darts he's used to.

“Should take us less than ten minutes to reach the mainland.” she announces. “Are you as excited as I am? I can never really tell.”  
His gaze fixates her for a moment.  
“I am not used to showing emotion outward.” he forces himself to admit. “Most communication among my kind happens telepathically.”  
“So you'd... sense someone else's feelings?” she asks, while the ship rises from the city. Seeker looks out the window, and feels a brief thrill, for being in a flying object again.

“Feelings, images, sensations.” he responds. “There are rarely misunderstanding among Wraith.”  
“Must be strange, to live without that.” Her words are casual, but he can hear the hint of guilt in her voice, as he's heard it so often from her.

“It is...” he pauses, to come up with the proper expression. “... too quiet.”

She presses her lips together, and nods. The inner corners of her brows are tilted upward, an expression he has come to translate as unease, sadness or pain.  
It feels strangely comforting to have her empathize with him, and not at all patronizing, or pitiful. He leaves it at that, and trains his gaze forward again, watching the Sea rush past below.

–

Her estimate was correct. The ship lands about ten minutes after departure, and Delilah opens the shuttle's door.

There's woodland outside, bordering on a thin strip of beach, by the lanthean Sea.  
“This should be a good spot.” she speaks again, and he follows as she gets up to leave the ship.

“What do we do now?” he asks, not uninterested in this human pasttime.  
“Well.” She stops by the large bag resting on the benches in the rear end of the ship, and opens it. “We build up our camp.”

Skeptical, he watches her unpack a bundle of synthetic fabric, which she hooks in at the edges of the jumper. After connecting an extendable plastic pole to it, she rams it into the ground, forming a canopy at the side of the ship.

“That tent is Ancient. It took me a while to figure out the first time I've used it.” she lets him know. “It's more of a protective shelter from rain, but it'll be warm during the night, so we'll be okay.”

He nods more to confirm that he's heard her, not in agreement. Standing by uselessly, as the woman sets up their camp, he shifts uncomfortably. Delilah doesn't seem to mind doing this by herself.

“You have done this before?” he inquires.  
“Yep! I'm quite the outdoorsy person, and most people on the base are not, so I usually go camping by myself. It's worth it, though. The night out here are so peaceful and quiet.” she explains, and he tilts his head in confusion.

“Outdoorsy?” he parrots.  
“Oh.” she giggles. “It's ah,... not a proper word. I mean, I like doing things in nature. Camping, hiking, taking walks, exploring and so on. Outdoorsy.”  
“The recreational value in this lies in the... beauty of nature?” he asks, going out on a limb, and she nods.  
“As well as a sense of adventure. But, I guess an ancient space warrior like you doesn't need recreational adventures, right?” She straightens herself and looks up to him again, smiling, and dusting off her hands.

“Adventures usually contain lethal danger.” he responds. “Besides, I am not a 'space warrior'. I do not fight in space. What you think of are fighter pilots.”  
“Oh, I know, I mean-... well, we call everything space-something on Earth, if it's from another planet.” She shrugs at him, and jogs into the jumper again, to fetch more of the synthetic fabric. “It makes no sense, I know, but it's hard to lose linguistic quirks like that. I mean, I've referred to you as a space vampire before.”

“What is a vampire?” Seeker inquires, very intrigued to what Delilah refers to him as in his absence.  
“It's a mythological creature.” she tells him. “Fictional. Vampires are based on old stories of people being buried alive by accident, and then 'rising from the dead'. Most vampire myths center around them feeding on the blood of the living, in order to keep themselves alive.”

Seeker raises his hand, flaring the feeding organ open.  
“And this one similarity makes me a 'space vampire'?” he asks, with mild amusement.  
“Well, no. You're a Wraith, not a vampire. Vampires aren't real things, you are.” she responds, still perfectly lighthearted. “We refer to anything that leeches things as 'vampiric'.”

“You said, it was a myth. Folklore.” he says, watching her spread a sheet of fabric over the ground. “Are there any stories about them?”  
“In fact, they're very prominent in popular culture.” she confirms. “I have a few books starring vampires myself. If you want, you can read them.”

Clapping her hands once, she steps back from the site.  
“Okay! We're done setting up camp, now we can enjoy our little vacation.” she announces, and he takes a few aimless steps underneath the canopy, ducking slightly to avoid it touching his head.  
“And how do we go about this?” he asks, causing a spike in excitement from Delilah.

“I'm glad you ask! I had a few ideas when I showered earlier.” she says. “So, now, to familiarize you more with human culture, we can... How about this. Grilling marshmallows, fishing, roasting fish over a campfire... ghost stories, swimming in the open sea, sunbathing, mushroom collecting...”

“I only understand half of what you are saying.” he interrupts her, eliciting a light giggle.  
“I know! Don't worry, I'll teach you everything.” She sits down cross-legged, and smirks. “I set up the camp, now you have to do your part, and collect firewood.” 

Finally, something to do, other than standing around and listening to confusing speeches, he muses, and nods. He's collected firewood before, in a few unfortunate situations of being stuck in a planet's wilderness, so he's confident that he won't be completely useless in this... recreational endeavor.

The sweet scent of Delilah's joy still lingers, as she turns his back to her, and ventures into the woods.


	7. Fireside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's getting real. You've been warned.

Chapter 7 – Fireside

Seeker is well fed and eager to burn some of the excess energy he's got sitting in his limbs, so gathering up a good supply of firewood doesn't take him too long. When he returns with his arms full of dry twigs, Delilah has already dug a small pit to pile it in.

Her gleeful smile she greets him with is still an unusual sight on a human face, but he welcomes it regardless.  
“Will this suffice?” he asks her, nodding down to the wood in his arms.  
“That's plenty.” Delilah confirms, and helps him arrange it in a vague cone-shape, in the pit she's dug.

“Do you know how to make a fire?” he inquires and she pulls a small plastic device from her pocket.  
“Yes. With a lighter.”

Unspectacularly, she pulls down the small latch, and it produces a flame.  
“It's much too early to light it, though. Let's save that for the evening.” she tells him, and pockets the lighter again.  
Nodding Seeker brushes the woodchips off his coat.  
“What do we do in the meantime?” he asks, very willing to leave the scheduling of their time here to her.

“It's summer for Lanthea right now.” she says, and points past the jumper, to the Sea. He blinks.  
“Not sure I can follow?”

“We're going to have a swim. You can swim, can't you?”  
Seeker crosses his arms.  
“Of course I can swim. But why?” he asks.  
“Because,” she says taking a step toward him. “It's fun.”

He's going to take her word for it, he thinks, and follows her past the jumper, onto the sand.  
“I changed into my swimwear while you were gone,” she informs him, while carelessly pulling her shirt over her head as she walks. “I don't think you have anything with you, so you'll just have to deal with wet underpants for a while. It's summer, you'll be fine.”

Still in mild confusion, he follows her to the edge of the water, catching up, just as she casts her pants aside. Underneath, she's wearing something very close to underwear, but Seeker can tell that it's not cloth. The top is also longer, almost reaching her navel.  
When he sees her from the front, a long, suspiciously clean scar on the abdomen catches his attention.

“You have been injured badly before.” he assumes, half in horror of who would cut open a civilian woman like this. She looks confused for a moment, then she shakes her head, laughing.

“What, that?” She taps the scar. “That's a surgical scar. When I was little, I had my appendix removed.”  
“Why would you do that?” he inquires, now very eager to learn about... whatever odd ritual this is.

“Well, it was infected.” she explains. “Humans don't actually need their appendix, it's just sort of there. Sometimes it causes trouble, and we remove it. Back in the old days, when our medicine was still very primitive, an infected, or worse, ruptured appendix was a death sentence. Now, it's a routine procedure.”  
She runs her fingertips along the length of the scar, before she continues.  
“Today, they've improved it, actually. They go through the navel, with minimal equipment, to prevent people from having large, nasty scars like me.” she explains to him. “They call it keyhole surgery, but back when I had mine removed, it was still done this way.”

He responds with a neutral hum, pondering the barbaric medical procedures of races that don't naturally regenerate, like him.  
When his silence lingers, Delilah clears her throat awkwardly.  
“Um, just so you know, you don't have to join me in the water. Only if you want to.” she clarifies, and he shakes his head, amused at the idea of her worrying for his comfort, before beginning to unclasp his coat.

She politely turns around, likely to give him privacy, and he finds his amusement growing. Humans do sexualize everything. Additionally, her gesture makes little sense. He's undressing, not changing. Even if she waits until he's done, she won't see anything less of him.

When he's down to his underwear, a pair of silken shorts, he steps past her, until the water is at knee-height, and stares down into the waves, at his distorted reflection.  
This is all so surreal to him, yet he finds himself not minding it in the slightest.

A splash to his side draws his attention, and he concludes that Delilah just swan-dived into the ocean. Seeker counts the seconds until she surfaces again.

One.  
Two.  
Three.  
Four.  
He's growing worried. Humans are incredibly fragile in every sense of the word, should they be able to survive longer than a few seconds without oxygen?  
Five.  
Six.  
Seven.  
Still nothing. Fear grips him – without her, he has no hope of ever returning to his people, let alone Atlantis. They'd assume he drowned her for some obscure reason, not to mention that-...

Delilah breaks the water surface beside him, and wipes her wet hair from her face. She draws breath heavily, and then gives him a puzzled look.  
“You look like you just saw a ghost.”

He has no idea what that means, but her tone conveys what she's trying to express.  
“Never do that again.” he snarls at her, and she raises an eyebrow.  
“Do what?” she asks, and he pauses.

“I already presumed you dead.” he reveals, softer now, seeing that she does have no idea why this upsets him.  
“I wasn't even in the water for ten seconds!” she defends herself, but he is having none of it.  
“Do you really believe I know how long a human of your age can go without breathing?” he snaps back, and sees her freeze.

“Oh.” she says, her expression shifting to one of concern. “You really thought I died?”  
“I considered the possibility.” he responds, almost mimicking her tone now. “I worried for you.”

There's a soft smile on her lips, and she pulls her shoulders up.  
“It's really kind of you to worry, but believe me, I'm a lot more resilient than you think.” she lets him know, and reaches out to pat his shoulder. He remains motionless, not responding to the gesture.

“Remain where I can see you.” he asks of her, but she keeps her smile.  
“I will. Now come, let's swim.”  
He reluctantly follows her.

As it turns out, she is a decent swimmer, matching his speed, and even exceeding it at points. Again and again, Seeker finds himself impressed by the sheer amount of positive energy this woman radiates, excitedly circling him in the water, like a friendly dolphin.

Her promise of fun wasn't empty after all.  
Seeker is a warrior, and sitting still, confined in a human city for too long is unnatural to him. The exercise feels good, loosening up his cramped muscles.

They swim for a good two hours, periodically returning to shore, for Delilah to rest up, something he is very grateful for. Drowning due to exhaustion is the last thing he wants her to do right now.  
It's pushing noon, when she eventually announces that they should return to camp.

The sun is at its highest, and burns down on the land mercilessly. Seeker is suddenly very grateful for the swim, as well as the Ancient canopy Delilah had assembled.  
Once arrived, she throws him a towel, and ties her own around her hips, like a skirt.

“Be a dear and start the fire.” she asks him, and throws him the lighter. He catches it easily, and nods.  
While he imitates her activating the device, and lets the tiny flame set the firewood in the pit ablaze, he hears her rifling through the bag she's left in the Jumper.

After a short time, she returns to him, a metal container in one hand, and an assortment of iron implements in the other.  
“What is that supposed to be?” he inquires, after having found a comfortable position to sit in.  
“Lunch.” she simply responds, sets the metal container down on the ground, and a small plastic contraption next to it. Seeker leans forward, to read the colorful piece of paper glued to the container.

R-A-V-I-O-L-I, it spells, and he can't associate the word with anything he's familiar with. Patient, he sits back, and watches Delilah work.

The metal parts turn out to be a tiny table she arranges over the firepit, and then cracks the little container open over.  
What pours out is best describes as a chunky, slimy mess of red and brown. Seeker recoils in disgust, but Delilah doesn't seem fazed.

“You can try some, if you want. I know you don't need to, but you can eat normal food, right?” she offers cheerfully, and actually laughs out loud when she faces him. His opinion must have shown on his face.  
“I would really rather not.” he declines, and regards the substance on the metal surface warily.  
“Why not? I know it looks gross, but it's quite good.” she wants to know, and takes a seat next to him.

“If I consume this...” He lifts his gaze from the food, and tries to look at something beyond the camp. “..it will come back out.”  
“You mean, you would throw it up?” she asks, a hint of sympathy in her voice, and he cringes visibly.  
“No. It would come out... elsewhere.” he corrects, and feels her shake with suppressed laughter beside him.

“Alright, alright. I won't force you.” she assures him and he huffs.  
“Much appreciated.”

As she pushes the food around on the surface, he takes a moment to get a good look at her, now that it's lonely and quiet, far from the weapons and hostility of Atlantis.  
Her skin is softer than his, and so is her entire bone structure. She lacks the prominent brow- and cheekbones, characteristic to his kind.  
Everything about her, her face, her nose, her cheeks, is round and soft. Delicate. Her skin carries a warmer tone, and is matte, as opposed to the light shine he's used to. There are tiny, darker spots around her nose bridge, dotted over her skin.

Her hair is shorter than his own, and has light waves, she has it tied up now. Dark it is, like a Queen's, and seemingly thicker in texture than his, but he knows that most humans have hair like that.  
What he finds most baffling, is her eyes.

Not the circular nature of her pupils, but the facets of color, the illusion of texture, as opposed to his own, smooth looking irises. They're of a blue color, with a grey inner ring that expands and shrinks as her pupils dilate.

“Can I help you?”

Her voice rips him from his observations. He must've been looking at her rather intensely.  
“No. Do not concern yourself.” he responds casually, and she shrugs, picking one of the chunks off the metal surface with her plastic implement.

Seeker shudders, when he actually sees her plop it into her mouth. He's unsure whether to admire her, or be utterly repulsed by her dietary habits.  
Then again, he muses to himself, his feeding habits are likely even more disturbing to her, than hers are to him.

She swallows her bite, and glances at him.

“You're awfully quiet.” she accuses him.  
“Am I not supposed to?” he counters, neutral in tone.  
“Well...” She hums. Obviously, she's not quite sure what to say. “I was hoping for a bit of conversation.”

“Your way of feeding occupies your mouth.” he says, and sees her roll her eyes.  
“Yes. But I can talk in between bites.” There's already amusement in her voice again, the subtle herald of a smile.

“What do you wish to discuss, then?” he gives in, and there it is, the smile.  
“Well, first of all, are you having fun yet?” she inquires and he lets his hands rest on his ankles.  
“I am enjoying myself, yes.” he answers truthfully. This is a very welcome respite.

“That's good. That's really good.” She shoves another chunk of goo into her mouth, and swallows it. “You know, this is important. I mean, you were captured, injured, tortured, even. Everyone treats you like dirt. I really do want you to be comfortable.”

Odd, he thinks. There's no hint of deception to be seen on her. In truth, this woman has been nothing but kind to him. Treated his wounds, eased his pain, fed his hunger, vouched for him against the entirety of her kind.  
She trusts him, not because she knows that his life very much depends on her favor, no. There's something else he can't quite discern, something meaningful.

Her strange eyes glimmer lightly in the light of the fire, as it casts a warm, orange glow in her so very soft face.

“I thank you for that.” he finally says aloud, and detects an expression of surprise on her face. That and something fond, something warm.

Something affectionate.

Moments pass by, and she smiles, before turning to her meal again. Seeker forgets how disgusting it is, and sinks back into his thoughts, recalling how he's felt every fiber of her being when he fed on her, how she's flared like a forest fire under his palm, when he'd breathed the life back into her.

The tiny flutter of her heartbeat.

A jolt goes through his form, when he feels her hand on his, but he doesn't resist when she pulls it to his knee, and holds it, just as she'd done during his blind walk through the halls of Atlantis.  
She looks pensive, almost serene, as she splays his hand flat and open.

“You really do trust me, huh.” she mutters, and runs her index finger over his feeding slit.  
“That trust is seemingly mutual.” he comments, and looks down to his hand. 

“I believe in this, Seeker.” she tells him, and the very serious mention of his name has him shiver. “This project, and the peace between Wraith and humans. You entered Atlantis as a prisoner, but you will leave it as an ally.”  
“Your people do not seem as invested in this as you are.” he admits, voicing one of his deep seated concerns, while she locks her fingers with his, her featureless palm resting against his.

“I know. But I'll convince them. Soon, they'll see.” she says, and there's no room for any doubts in her tone. “As long as I draw breath, no one will hurt you. No one.”

There's an intense sincerity in her entire presence, when she says this, and a sensation of warmth fills Seeker's chest. The pads of his fingers touch her knuckles, and he looks up to her, to see the determination in her eyes.

“I trust you.” he simply states.


	8. Warmth

Chapter 8 – Warmth

They had remained like this for a while, hands locked and quiet in each other's presence. Seeker is lost in his own thoughts, when Delilah pulls her hand from his and gets up.

She unties the towel from her waist, and uses it to snuff out the fire, then wordlessly goes to clean off the metal table in the ocean. Seeker looks after her, then down to his hand.  
The remains of her body heat still linger, and the bits of skin that had made contact with hers feel unusually cool.  
There's a pleasant tingle in his feeding organ, not hunger, but yearning.

He wants to touch her, connect to her, and feed life into her again. His first Gift had been out of necessity, both to stabilize her condition, and to prove himself trustworthy, or at least 'not as dangerous as originally presumed' to the leaders of Atlantis.   
But now, he recalls it fondly.

Uncrossing his legs, he rises to his feet as well, and stretches, sore from sitting on the ground for too long. His gaze rests on the stack of clothing they'd retrieved from the shore after swimming, and he wonders if he should get fully dressed in the summer heat again.  
He compromises, and only puts his pants back on, leaving his heavy coat in the Jumper.

There's still a drowsy haze spreading like a canopy over his mind. His hands flex idly by his side, as he reflects how he got into this situation. From hunting down the signal from an old device, to sharing leisure time by a campfire with a human.  
He trusts her, though when he wonders how his past self would have reacted to this future, he involuntarily shakes his head. His past self would have laughed in disbelief.

Delilah returns, and stows the metal table in the jumper again, then flashes him a quick smile.  
For a while, Seeker had considered the human habit to smile a way of masking fear, or attempting to entice an attacker to spare them. But hers doesn't carry those connotations.

“Have you fed enough?” he asks her, thinking back to the small amount of slimy chunks she's consumed.  
“For the time being, yes. I'll need more by the evening, but that's what we'll work on next.” she lets him know, while rifling through her equipment bag.

“Is that so?” he asks, catching himself using the empty phrases humans like so much to fill silence.  
“I mentioned fishing, didn't I?” She turns toward him, and hands him... a rod.

It's an odd contraption, with several pulleys, a thin nylon string, and a hook at the end. He gives her a questioning look. Is this supposed to be a weapon?  
“With this, and these lures, we can get fish to bite that hook, and pull them out of the water.” she explains. “It's very relaxing.”

That doesn't help his confusion. Pulling fish out of the water really isn't his idea of relaxation, but again, he has to take her word for it.  
“There's a pond a bit further into the woods, where we can get some freshwater fish.” she continues, and he nods. He's seen that body of water on his quest for firewood.

 

It takes them a considerable amount of time to find the pond again, but Delilah seems to know exactly where she's going, leading ahead, still in her swimwear and barefoot, she navigates the thick woods with impressive confidence.

Once there, she leads him to sit with her, on a toppled treetrunk, and hands him one of the rods. Unscrewing the jar she brought, she begins preparing her lure. A new wave of disgust washes over Seeker, when he realizes that the jar contains live worms.

He actually leans away from her, when she casually offers the jar to him.  
“Come on, don't be so squeamish, you don't have to eat them.” she teases him, and snags the hook from his rod, and prepares it for him.

“I never knew humans did this to... relax.” he admits. “It does not seem particularly relaxing to me.”  
“We're not at the relaxing part yet.” she says, and casts her line out into the water. The hook drops, and vanishes in the depths.  
He observes her, then follows suit.

“Now, we wait until a fish takes the lure. Then, we reel it in.” She grins at him. “It's kind of like your cullings, except with.. worms.”

An unknown force coming down from above, to take away people as a food source. The analogy makes him smile mildly.  
“In a way.” he grants her, and her grin becomes triumphant.  
“Look at that.” she says. “I made you smile.”  
“You made me smile.” he admits, and looks out to the water.

A few moments of silence pass, until he breaks it again.  
“I have been meaning to ask you this.” he opens, content with how her attention immediately shifts to him. “How do you see me? You must be aware that I killed many of your kind throughout my lifetime, and would have continued to do so, were it not for you.”

He sees her hands tense around the rod she's holding, and her head lowers slightly, causing her hair to veil his sight to her face.  
“I do know that, yes.” she then begins, carefully selecting each word she utters. “I know what your people do, but I'm also aware that you have no choice. You feed to live.”  
“So we do.” he confirms, patiently waiting for her to give him a satisfactory answer.

“Dr. Weir's had some doubts about your treatment before, you know. But every time she voiced them, she was countered with 'They're Wraith. They don't count.' I think that's a very dangerous worldview.” she continues, looking back up to face him. “The military staff of Atlantis villainizes your kind. They have to, because they have to fight you, after all. But it's bled through to the civilian ranks of the city too. The universe isn't black and white, good and evil. It's not that simple, and I understand that.”

“Elaborate?” he requests, and she crosses her legs, buying some time for her response.

“The way the military sees you... You'd basically walk around on your Hives, rubbing your hands, cackling maniacally, coming up with new things to torment humans, just for the hell of it.” Her expression twists, as if to underline how ridiculous she finds this. “They don't consider you individuals with thoughts and feelings outside of hunger. I never had that view. So, to summarize – I see you as an individual person, a likeable one at that, who just happens to feed on humans.”

“You consider me likeable?” he asks, and she snorts  
“Would I be on a camping trip with you if I didn't enjoy your company?” she fires back, and he tilts his head.  
“Delilah.” he addresses her by name, causing her to get serious again. “Why did you hold my hand earlier?”

Caught off guard again, she averts her gaze, and shrugs.  
“I felt like it.” she says, a very unsatisfactory answer, but any additional prodding from his side is preventing by a violent thrash in the water.  
Delilah yelps in surprise, and begins reeling her catch in, a struggle that very much reminds him of the cullings he's actively taken part in.  
A fight for life, on the fish's end, as it's ripped from its world.

Once she's pulled it on land, she sets the still twitching fish down on the trunk they're sitting on, and gives it one sharp thrust with the other end of her rod. It's movements stop.

“You killed it.” he states and she nods.   
“I did, to minimize its suffering.” she explains. “That's one of the core principles I go by when I hunt or fish. Respect and compassion for my quarry.”  
“I am beginning to see why you sympathized with me back then.” he says, and she shrugs at him again.  
“Let's just say, I would be very disturbed if this fish started shooting me with a handgun all of a sudden.” she says, and makes him smile again at the analogy. “Let's go back to the camp and make dinner.”

The sun already sets, when they leave the woods. Seeker hadn't been aware of the passage of time during their time in the forest, the canopy of trees obscuring his view to the sky.  
Delilah leaves the task of making a fire to him again, while she draws a knife, and begins slicing away at her catch.

He can only watch her from an angle, while he arranges more firewood into the pit and lights it ablaze, but he can see that she's not afraid of getting her hands dirty. When she's done, the fish id impaled, mouth to tail, on a sharpened twig.

Casually casting a handful of bones into the fire, she takes a seat next to him, and hold her twig into the flames.

Dinner doesn't take long. Somehow, he finds the image of her happily chomping down on a fish less disconcerting than whatever she had eaten before. He attributes it to the lack of slimy parts, and leans his back against the outer wall of the jumper.  
When she's finished eating, she throws her makeshift pike into the fire as well, and leaves him briefly to 'brush her teeth', as she puts it.  
Seeker isn't quite sure what she means by that, but he assumes it has to do with dental hygiene, so he doesn't object.

The night is warm, as she'd predicted, and she returns to him, a new towel-skirt around her hips.

“Well, that was day one.” she says. “What do you think?”  
He understands by now that her question is related to the first part of her statement, and not a general inquiry on his thoughts.

“I am grateful that you brought me here.” he says. “You were right, there is an intrinsic sense of peace in this.”  
With one of her usual, gentle smiles, she nods.  
“I'm glad to hear that, I really am.” she says, sincerity clear as a crystal again. “As I said, I like you, and I care about you. Atlantis makes you unhappy.”  
“I am a prisoner.” he explains it, and she shakes her head.  
“Not to me.”

He puts his fingertips together, and side-eyes her.  
“When I am permitted to return to my people,” he begins, verbalizing a question that has long plagued him. “would you truly want to accompany me? Would they let you?”  
“Well, do you want me to accompany you?” That question completely disarms him.

He puts off answering by taking her hand in his, and running his thumb over her knuckles.   
“Yes, I believe I do.” he then admits.  
Delilah nods slowly.  
“You know, I never thought I would be holding hands with you.” she comments on his gesture. “Let alone have you initiate it.”  
“To be frank, it is not that outlandish to consider, if we ignore the fact that I kill for survive.” he says, finally managing to mimic her habit of casually relaying information. “My kind are very physical in nature. Casual affection is nothing rare among us.”

There's an expression of genuine surprise on her face.  
“Now, that's unexpected. Wraith always seem so stoic.” she admits.  
“I am the first Wraith you encounter outside of a combat situation, am I not?” he justifies it, and she smirks.  
“Good point.”

Pausing, her fingers lock around his hand, before she speaks to him again.  
“Does that mean, you're deprived of that here too?” she very carefully articulates, and he lightly lifts his shoulders.  
“I would not dare ask you for relief. After all,” His head tilts again. “humans sexualize everything.”  
“Is that becoming a running gag?” she asks, and he sighs.  
“Again, I am not familiar with that expression.” he lets her know.

“It means that-... It's not important, really.” Her free hand has reached out to him, and now hovers over his shoulder. “You know, even though I sexualize everything, I wouldn't mind giving you a hug or two.”

Seeker looks at her, her soft features, and then, after careful consideration, nods at her. She sits up a little, scoots closer, and wrings her hand from his, then guides it around her waist, while imitating that with her own.   
She leans against his side, and he trembles a little, caught off guard by her heat, before relaxing again. As soft as she looks, he confirms to himself, and closes his eyes.

A subtle shift tells him that she's resting her head on his shoulder, seemingly not minding his lower body temperature, or his firm skin.  
Her hand comes to rest on his chest, imitating the position of his own, when he feeds. 

She's so warm.

There's an odd sense of bliss in him, when he finds himself beginning to relish the contact, just now realizing how much he's missed this. She's no Wraith, but her embrace feels just as comforting. A person. He sees her as a person. That's why, he presumes.

Her breathing has gotten slower, steadier, the rhythm to infectious that he involuntarily matches his own to her. Opening his eyes and glancing down to her, he realizes that she's actually fallen asleep like this.

He's writing history, he realizes.   
Then again, for the moment, it doesn't matter to him. 

For the duration of his stay in her quarters, he's kept himself awake, easier for him than for a human, but still a strain on his psyche. Atlantis is enemy territory, and he won't find any rest there.  
But now, far away from the city, with this bundle of warmth and softness in his arms. Seeker feels the calm in his core.

No longer than a few minutes later, he lets himself slip into the hazy, meditative state, his people's equivalent to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a few new songs to my playlist! https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLbSkduxaRhPiBuHrCctfuR-UyqfQx_PaH


	9. Truth

Chapter 9 – Truth

The morning feels strange to Delilah.  
She's not used to waking up in someone's arms, let alone those arms belonging to a Wraith. Throughout her life, serious emotional commitments have been rare.  
Sex, sure. But Delilah is used to the walk of shame, and the awkward 'I'll just be on my way then'-exchange on the morning after.

Not at all a careful unraveling of limbs after a night of... cuddling an alien.  
She grins. Technically, she's the alien in this situation.

The fact that Seeker had actually fallen asleep surprises her a lot, after all, she's never seen him sleep, wasn't actually sure if he does it at all. But there he is, eyes shut, breathing slow and steady, definitely asleep.  
She takes the opportunity of the moment to give him a good looking at. 

There are physical features she never expected on Wraith, especially not before knowing him. The long lashes, for example, or that very smooth, silky hair. Even now, his sharp features give him an almost regal, noble look, and a smile cracks her expression.   
Space elves.

Delilah retreats into the jumper's interior, changes into a pair of fresh underwear, as she's not too keen on a bladder infection after wearing her wet tankini for so long. She also puts her Atlantis uniform back on, leaves the jacket behind, though.   
It's Sunday, and she has a slow hike through the beautiful landscape planned, now aware that Seeker does have a sense of appreciation for that.

When she returns, he's awake, and poking around in the remains of their campfire with a stick.  
“Good morning.” she greets him, and he glances at her over his shoulder.  
“Good morning.” he responds, and the greeting sounds incredibly weird from him. Delilah could be imagining it, but he looks a bit healthier now, after a good night's rest.

“We need to be back in Atlantis by nightfall, but I thought we could finish our trip up with a nice walk through the woods. Does that sound good?” she offers cheerfully, and he rises to his feet, then walks past her to pick his undershirt from the pile of clothes.

“I am ready when you are.” he says, while putting it back on. For some ungodly reason, pulling a shirt over his head doesn't mess up his hair.  
Must be a side-effect from living off human life force. At least that explanation has Delilah feeling better about it.

“I'm good. There's a few nice places I like to go when I'm on the mainland. I wanna show them to you.” she tells him, and strides off toward the forest, his footfalls behind her confirming that he's following along.

Their trek leads them past the pond they caught yesterday's dinner in, and then further up a small hill, with an old, massive tree at its peak.  
Delilah takes the time to climb it, leaving Seeker behind on the ground, arms crossed, clearly disapproving, but her inner child demands to do that, every time she visits it.

Their next stop is a tiny creek, feeding into the pond. She kneels into it, to point out the odd breed of algae growing at its bottom, and demonstrate its faint, bioluminescent glow in response to human touch.   
Seeker eventually seems to convince himself to try it too, and it remains dark at his touch. They share theories about body heat, and skin oils inherent to humans that he lacks, while they move on.

Delilah's next destination is a small clearing, full of hedges with beautiful blossoms on them, harboring a type of fungus in the ground that the expedition uses to create their own penicillin, but when they reach it, they aren't alone anymore.

There's a research team, composed of two young women Delilah vaguely recognizes as part of the biological science tract. She opens her mouth to explain the situation, as they turn to recognize Seeker as the feared enemy they've seen in pictures and video feeds.  
Almost in slow motion, Delilah sees the terror creep into their expression. One takes off running, while the other lets out a high pitched shriek of panic.

Then, everything goes so fast.

Delilah raises her hand, and calls out to them to stop, while the scientist pulls the gun she keeps on her belt, points it at Seeker, and fires.  
Two bullets hit a tree behind the two, but her other three, rapidly fired shots find purchase on their target.   
A choked gasp of pain, and Delilah sees Seeker double over in pain.

“Put that gun down!” she shouts, and whips around to him.  
His shirt is black, but she can clearly see the liquid staining it. Her hand brushes against the damp stains as she touches him to steady his fall, and dark blood smears her fingertips.

“Oh god,” she whispers, “Oh god.”  
Seeker has his eyes clenched shut, then slowly opens them to look at her. To her horror, Delilah realizes that one of the bullets has hit dangerously close to his heart, and pierced his lungs. He coughs, and the dark liquid spills from his mouth.  
Lungs. Heart. Vital spots.

The scientist stands there, the hand that holds her gun shaking, as she stares at the pair, not comprehending why Delilah isn't thanking her for neutralizing the threat.  
“Go, leave!” she shouts at her. “We have a Jumper about half a mile to the west, radio Atlantis and have them send a medical team. Go!”

She hesitates, still perplexed, but eventually obeys, and takes off running.   
Delilah turns toward Seeker again. His eyes are glassy, as copious amounts of blood pour from the wounds on his chest.

“It's okay.” she tells him, trying her best to keep her voice from shaking. “Look at me. You'll be okay.”  
Her grip locks around his wrist, and she pulls his feeding hand closer to herself. He twitches, and shakes his head.

“I am... dying.” he manages to articulate, his voice hoarse with pain. “If I feed on you now, you will-...”  
“I know.” she interrupts him.”Why do you think I'm having this fool send for medical aid? I know what I'm doing, and you said you trusted me.”  
His pupils dilate open, and again, he winces in pain.  
“Come on. I'll live.” she assures him, and forces his hand to settle on her chest. The feeding organ flares, she can feel it move against her skin.

“You will.” he rasps, and it almost sounds like an order.  
Then, he feeds.

The pain starts slow, throbbing, pulsating through her system in waves. With every passing second, it gets worse, sharper, hotter. Delilah feels like she's on fire, but she forces herself to maintain eye contact to Seeker.  
His pupils have fanned out widely, appearing almost circular, and he bares his teeth, hissing lightly, as he drinks her life.  
There's dark spots in her vision, growing bigger as time progresses, and her hand moves to his shoulder, steadying herself on him, as the pain is followed by a deep sensation of weakness.

Her tunnel vision focuses his eyes until Delilah sees no more.

–

Seeker yanks his hand back, so violently, he splatters her blood on the ground beneath them. The wounds on his torso mend, fueled by Delilah's life, while she sinks into his arms.

This time, it doesn't feel good.

The painful pressure of panic sits in his chest as he holds her. They'll kill him. They'll see this, and shoot him, just like this woman. Without Delilah awake, there will be no one to stop them, and they won't ask any questions.  
They will see him, the Wraith, with a bloody palm, and the lifeless body by his side. 

His fingers press against her pulse point, to find a faint heartbeat, but he knows, it won't matter. Survival instinct tells him to grab her, and hide somewhere, before the Lantheans arrive, but he's aware that she'll die if she doesn't receive medical attention.  
Then again, where would he go? He can't leave this planet, and the Lantheans would hunt him down.

Sheppard would be glad to have a reason to kill him now.  
'There's always tomorrow.'

Seeker grits his teeth.  
Everything he's felt, everything Delilah made him believe in feels redundant now. Her project will die with him, right here, in this clearing.

Almost resigning himself to his fate, he awaits his end.

The seemingly inevitable bullet to the head never comes. Instead, there's the man that had tended to her before, running toward him and Delilah, followed by the woman that had shot him.  
He doesn't even waste time acknowledging Seeker, he just pries Delilah's motionless form from his arms, and begins checking her vitals.

Without saying a word, Seeker watches him.  
There are no soldiers with him, not even much of a medical team, just him and his supplies. He administers a serum to her, takes her blood pressure, then shakes his head.

“Her heart is barely holding up. I don't have the equipment to stabilize her.” he says, clearly addressing Seeker. “I've given her adrenaline, but she needs to regain strength.”  
Seeker looks at him intensely, then opens his bloodied palm, flexing it at the man.

“I can save her.” he lets him know. “If you guarantee that no one will shoot me if I touch her.”  
“Of course not! Our trigger-happy lass has left her gun by the Jumper, do it!” the man assures him, and that is all Seeker needs.

His wounds have mended, and he knows, he can survive until Delilah recovers. He's starved for longer than that, and kept himself upright.  
With an intense expression of determination, he lowers his hand onto the wound he'd left, and begins funneling back the energy he took.

The warmth of their connection is accompanied by the familiar burn of hunger in his core, but he stubbornly ignores it, filling her with power. As he does, he can feel her heartbeat getting stronger, until her eyes snap open, and she arches into his touch.

He lets go, and she sits up, putting her hand onto her forehead, as vertigo snares her.

“Carson?” she breathes, and the man smiles with relief. “You didn't-... are you alone?”  
“Lass called me directly.” he reveals, and side-eyes Seeker for a moment. “I assumed a misunderstanding, and to be quite honest, I think everyone is better off if nobody else hears about this.”

Seeker gives him a confused look, and the man, Carson returns his glare, now entirely free of the fear he had encountered him first with.  
“You are integral to the project Delilah and I pursue. I know that you probably didn't mean to nearly kill her, and you proved that by restoring her just now.” he explains. “It'd be protocol to report this, but I know that she would never forgive me if I did. I'll come up with some other reason she needed medical attention, and leave it at that.”

Delilah looks like she's about to cry, her chest still rising and falling rapidly with her breath.  
“We'll be fine.” she breathes. “I told you, it'd be fine.”

Carson leaves his crouched position, and gathers his things from the ground.  
“I hate to cut your vacation short, but you really shouldn't be out in the wilds now, love.” he tells Delilah, who is still trying to find balance, then shifts his attention to Seeker again. “I will fly the Jumper back to the city. Can you carry her?”

Nodding, Seeker hooks his arms under her knees and back, then effortlessly lifts her. Even now, hungry and worn out, he finds himself to be much stronger than a human. About to walk off, leading the man back to the Jumper, he pauses to give him a stare.

“Thank you,” he says, and then, after a brief moment of hesitation. “Carson.”

–

“Hey.”  
Delilah's voice has Seeker turning away from the view down her balcony.  
She's standing in the doorway, hair wet, and dressed in her usual sleeping attire. There's a look of great concern on her face.

“You look terrible.” she lets him know, and then adds in an almost accusing tone: “And I feel a lot better than I should.”  
He crosses his arms defensively, and elects not to grace her with a response.

“You gave back a lot more than you should have, didn't you?” she continues, and he snarls at her.  
“You were dying.” he hisses, and Delilah sighs.  
“So were you.” she counters.

“I mended my own wounds. I will live.” he assures her, sounding sharper than he intends to, but his hunger is wearing his patience thin.  
“You still need to feed soon.” she gently says, and moves closer. He presses his palm against his thigh in response.  
“Not today.” he states firmly. “Your system needs time to recover.”

Regardless, she continues to approach.  
“Right.” she agrees, to his surprise. “Not today, then, but soon.”  
Her hands trail over his shoulders, down his arms to his elbows. He lets her do this, regarding her neutrally.  
“Now that we've established some things, I think it'd be a good idea if you didn't deprive yourself of sleep.” she notes. “Especially if you insist on waiting before you feed again.”

“Where would I sleep?” he asks, very well aware of her response. He wouldn't have minded sleeping on the floor, but just one breath, one tiny whiff of the pheromones she's shedding tells him that she wouldn't ask that of him.  
“In my bed. Next to me.” she responds, and the idea of resting in these soft sheets, against the warm body seems very attractive to him.  
“I can do that.” he simply responds.

She takes his hand, the right one, unfortunately, as he notes while his hunger flares painfully. Not letting her notice that, he follows her, sinks into the sheets next to her.

Her arms envelop him, warmer and closer than before, in the wilderness, and he lets his guard down. This feels oddly right, regardless of how outlandish and strange it actually is. The hunger aches, and he soothes it by sinking his hand into her hair, the still damp strands cooling the scorching pain in his palm.

There's no doubt anymore, in Delilah's sincerity.   
No plot would make a human fall asleep in the arms of a hungry Wraith.

This is real. It is the truth.


	10. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs hands*  
> *for multiple reasons*

Chapter 10 – Storm

“Carson, I wanted to thank you for what you did yesterday.” Delilah opens sheepishly, even before any sort of morning greeting, as she enters her lab.

As usual, Carson Beckett is there before her, already by his workstation. He turns his attention to her.  
“You still think going on a camping trip with your Wraith was a good idea, don't you?” he asks, but there's no accusation in his tone.  
Delilah takes her spot, on the other side of the room, and powers up her computer.

“It wasn't his fault. I told him to feed on me.” she defends, but then pauses. “Wait. 'My' Wraith?”  
“Wouldn't be the first time you risk your life and career for him, would it?” Carson still sounds oddly casual. “Your interest in him isn't strictly professional anymore. Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong.”

Uncomfortably wringing her hands, Delilah does admit that sharing her bed with a test subject isn't normal, no matter how good her intentions are.  
“Well, yeah, I mean, I basically live with him now.” she admits, backpedaling a little. “I'm fond of him, and I like talking to him. He's got good taste in literature.”

Carson flashes a benevolent smile.  
“Look, I told Elizabeth that you had an unexpected allergic reaction to a plant you encountered.” he lets her know. “But I can't keep covering you like that, not by a long shot.”  
“I won't ask you to lie for me more than you already have.” Delilah mutters, but Carson's soft sigh cuts her off.  
“Just take care of yourself, alright?”

“I will.” she promises. “Actually, I feel great. 'My Wraith' is currently sitting in my quarters, twiddling thumbs, and trying to ignore his hunger. He gave back more than he needed to.”  
“You were close to cardiac arrest.” Carson says. “I saw the look on his face. Maybe you gave him a scare, after bonding over... what did you even do out there?”

“Camping things. Went fishing, sat by the campfire, things like that.” She shrugs a little. “He's very eager to learn things, even useless things like recreational activities. He wants to understand, Carson. I really think that we can achieve peace with the Wraith, once we finish the vaccine, and start mass-producing it.”  
“I know.” Carson responds. “At least, after seeing what I saw yesterday, I know it. And, also because you apparently slept in the same room as a hungry Wraith.”

“Bed.”  
“Excuse me?”

Delilah smiles apologetically.  
“In the same bed. I slept in the same bed as a hungry Wraith.” she says, and gleefully enjoys the half-amazed, half-horrified expression on Carson's face, as her words reach him.  
“You're messing with me.” he accuses her, but she shakes her head.  
“Wraith are very physical, according to 'mine'.” she explains. “I only learned that during our trip, but I offered him to snuggle up with me at night, and he accepted.”

Carson exhales sharply in exasperation.  
“Bridging the gap between our people.” he mutters, shaking his head.

–

A sudden activation of the city's broadcasting system has Seeker shoot to his feet. The room was so empty and quiet, the unexpected noise has him snarling, and shifting into combat stance immediately, but he soon relaxes and realizing that it's just a transmission.

“This is Dr. Weir.” the broadcast says. “There is a massive hurricane heading toward the city, which we estimate will hit us in about twelve hours. There will be a massive evacuation movement in two hours. I ask all personnel to stand ready in the Gate Room until then. Pack only what is necessary. Weir out.”

Seeker glares at the speakers with contempt. This is the city of the Ancients, the people that have resisted his kind's unrelenting assaults for thousands of years. Certainly, they eventually fled, but Atlantis must be able to withstand a simple storm. Why would they evacuate?

And more importantly, what will happen to him? He can see them bargaining with other human worlds for shelter, but the chance of finding a planet to take in a Wraith...

Rapidly clenching and unclenching his hands, he paces back and forth in Delilah's living space.  
He's powerless.  
The only thing he can hope for now is that Delilah will ensure his safety.

It takes her half an hour to return to him, but when she does, she looks concerningly worn out.

“Seeker,” she breathes, and walks up to him, taking his hands into hers. His hunger angrily demands to be given attention, but he stubbornly refuses to.  
“They are evacuating the city?” he inquires to her, and she nods.  
“Only a small amount of people will remain.” she says. “One of our chief scientists has a plan on how to reroute power from our grounding stations into the shield generator, so as long as we stay in the shielded control room sector, we will be safe.”

“We.” he parrots and she nods.  
“The others are going to an allied world, but we...” She laughs briefly. “We did consider smuggling you along, but that's...not a good idea. So, Dr. Weir decided to have you stay here, together with me, and the small team that executes our plan.”

“I figured that evacuation would not include me.” he admits, holding the part in which he worried about being left behind to die back.  
“Once it starts, we will go to the control room, and wait the storm out. Everything will be alright.” she assures him, somehow addressing his concern. She must be getting better at reading his expression, he reckons. “So, in one and a half hours, we'll go.”

He pulls his hands from hers, and resumes pacing, slower now. Her gaze follows him, and she closes in again.  
“How's your hunger?” she asks, her tone soft and careful.  
“Manageable.” he responds, slowing his steps down again, until he stops in place.  
“Does it hurt?” she asks, no trace of curiosity, just worry and compassion. It still baffles him.

“It feels like fire.” he reveals. “Dry, parched tissue, slowly smoldering under my skin. I can feel it damaging me.”  
When he looks up to face her, there's tears in her eyes, one of them spilling over her lashline, and trickling down her cheek.

“When you were locked up, before the vaccine...” she begins, but he cuts her off quickly.  
“The morphine helped.” he tells her. “It numbed down everything, the hunger and the wounds.”

“Seeker, listen, I don't know if Dr. Weir will be particularly thrilled if you need to feed while we wait out the storm. If you don't think you'll be able to bear it for the next twenty-four hours, maybe you should feed on me now, while you still can.”

The offer has his breath hitching, as every instinct within him screams for him to accept. He wordlessly puts his off hand on her shoulder, and gently elicits her to sit with him on the edge of the bed.

“Carson and I finished the first alteration using your enzyme today, before the announcement came. I may or may not have injected it to myself already.” she confesses, with a playful smirk. “The base compilation hasn't been altered, it's just gotten an additional component. Might not even hurt this time.”

There's a light feeling in his core, and he can't quite agree with himself on how to think of this development. On one side, yes, this will make it easier to find volunteers, but there's more to it than that. Her pain-twisted face is etched into his mind, and the news that he might not see it again soon... makes him feel something, indeed.

“Guide my hand.” he whispers to her, and she complies. She takes his hand with both of hers, and slowly brings it up to her chest, leaving her fingers resting on his, when his palm sets.  
They make eye contact, and Seeker sees her nod.

He seals the organ, and a slow, deep breath leaves him when he feels her energy pouring into his system. His cells bloom with life again, the weariness and pain fading with every beat of her heart, now matching his.  
When he gathers himself enough to open his eyes, he sneaks a glance at her face.

No twist, no clenched eyes, no tears. Instead, her eyes have gently fluttered shut, her lips slightly parted, a fast, labored breath passing out her mouth.  
Fascinated with that expression, he slows his drain to a tiny trickle, more toying with her than actually feeding, and her expression softens further.

“Delilah.” he says. “Look at me.”  
Clearly hearing and understanding him, her eyes blink open, and meet his.  
No tears, no strain. Her lips tremble in an attempt to speak, but she fails to make a sound. Instead, her shaking hand lifts from his, and finds its way to his face, cupping his cheek in the most gentle contact she's even established with him.

A jolt of bliss runs through his nerves, and he pulls back his stinger, but lets his hand rest on her chest, feeling it rising and falling underneath.

“It works.” she softly says. “There's no pain.”  
“I did not go easy on you.” he assures her. “You did not feel pain?”

“No, I felt...” She shakes her head mid-sentence, and her thumb trails over his sensory pit. “I felt... you. Somehow. I don't know how to describe it.”  
“I understand.” he quickly says, subtly leaning into her hand. “When I feed, I feel this connection. Now that pain no longer clouds your senses... you likely do too?”

“You feel this every time?” She almost sounds shocked, and he nods.  
“Is that so unexpected?” he asks, and she nods vigorously.  
“Yes, it very much is!” She pulls back and gets up. “I don't-... I mean. God, I don't know, this is weird.”

Seeker turns his palm up, and looks at the drops of blood around his feeding slit.  
“You didn't feel the slightest bit of pain?” he asks to confirm.  
“Just the initial breaking of skin.” she says, nodding. “I'll report this to Carson once the whole storm business is over.”

There's a deep flush on her cheeks, and she turns to the balcony.  
Following her, he leans against the railing beside her. She takes a series of deep breaths, then looks out to the turbulent sea.  
“You know, Carson calls you 'my Wraith.” she tells him. “Probably because it's easier to specify who he means, since 'The Wraith' can also mean the entirety of your people. But it's funny. Surprised me like that today.”  
“You haven't told him my name.” he states with mild surprise.  
“Well, you did make kind of a big deal out of it, I didn't think you'd want me to.” she explains herself, and Seeker moves his hand on the railing to cover hers.

“I did not expect you to honor my wishes, at least not at that point in time.” he admits. “Thank you.”  
Her smile carries its usual warmness, before turning to jest.  
“Don't thank me. I still call you Steve with other humans.”

He picks up on the joke, and rewards her with a rare smile.  
“I believe I prefer 'Delilah's Wraith' over 'Steve' in that context.” he jabs back, but their conversation doesn't feel any lighter.  
A few minutes of mutual silence pass, before Delilah turns to him, and tugs on his hand to get his attention.

“Do you really feel this intimate connection every time you feed?” she picks the topic back up, and Seeker nods.  
“Inherently, yes.” he confirms. “It has different connotation with other humans before you. This may be just as new to me as it is to you.”  
“How is it different?” she prods, and he takes a moment to prepare himself for what he is about to say.

“Other humans, human I wouldn't consider... as trustworthy and... likeable as you.” he begins, hesitating with certain words. “With them, the connection is a sense of control. It is a thrill, but it has a sinister quality to it. The ability to rip out a creature's very life is intoxicating under these circumstances. With you, it is, as you said, intimate. Warm.”

Pausing, he takes another look at her flushed face, then smiles, taking the opportunity to jab at her again.  
“It may be the only thing I sexualize just as much as you do.” 

With a deep sense of satisfaction, he watches his word unfold their full meaning to her; her face morphs from understanding, to delight, and then to utter embarrassment.

“You mean-... when you feed on me, you-... I mean, genuinely?” she stutters, but he can still sense that delight in her voice.  
“Yes.” he simply responds, and waits for her to process this information.

“Whew, I mean-... Whew. That's, well, yeah. Wow.” She's not making much sense to him, but he forgives her for that, still highly amused by her reaction.

“I'll uh-... I have some work to do, and uh, I'll...” She shakes her head, and sighs. “I'll come pick you up in an hour, so we can go to the control room together. I'll-... I need some fresh air. I mean, we're outside but-... alone time. Thinking time. I'll be back.”

“No blindfolds this time.” he calls after her as she moves to leave, and she spins to walk the remaining way backwards, facing him with her thumbs turned up.


	11. Eye

Chapter 11 – Eye

Delilah has 'her Wraith' close by her side when it happens.

The city is dark and empty, the two of them have retreated to one of the farthest, most remote areas of the protected space, out of sight and earshot.  
They hear the Gate activate, voices, then gunshots.  
Seeker tenses at her side, and she grabs his hand, hectically gesturing to him.

He points over his shoulder, to the source of the gunshots, but Delilah shakes her head.  
“We have to run.” she mouths at him, and tugs impatiently at his hand,  
There's a surprising lack of panic within her, when she and Seeker leave the Gate room unhindered Without stopping, she enters a teleporter with him, but he stops her before she can activate it.

“Delilah.” he says, his voice low and urgent.  
“The city's under attack.” she tells him just as urgent as him. “Someone must have let word get out that we're vulnerable. We have to force them back before the storm hits.”  
“And how do you intend to do that?” he asks.  
“I... don't know.” she admits, and reaches forth to tap a location on the city map. “I just know that staying there and fighting isn't going to help.”

The beam descends upon them, and rematerializes them elsewhere.  
“There's an armory not far from here.” she tells him, still holding his hand. “We'll need weapons, and then we need to find Major Sheppard.”

Seeker pulls a very expressive grimace at that name.  
“Listen, he'll be concerned with saving the city, not vexing you.” she assures him. “I'll be with you, okay? I won't let him hurt you, but we need his help to get these invaders out before they see and shoot you.”

“You truly believe, Sheppard would fight at my side?” he asks, bitterness in his voice.  
“No. I trust you to fight by his side.” A swish of her hand opens the teleporter, and she steps outside, almost dragging him along.

“Who are these invaders? Does Atlantis have human enemies as well?” Seeker inquires, having given up on the previous argument, as Delilah leads him down the hall.  
“Genii.” she responds. “I recognized their uniforms.”  
“Genii?” he parrots. “I am not familiar with those humans.”  
“Be glad. They're even more insufferable than we are.”

The intercom activating has them pausing in the corridor.

“... Come on Elizabeth, a Jumper, all of our C4 and medical supplies isn't worth dying for. And it's not like he have a Wraith to give to them, do we?”  
Delilah recognizes that voice. It's Dr. Rodney McKay, the chief scientist on Atlantis. She hasn't worked with him before, or spoke more than a few words with him, but she does know who he is. Seeker glares at her.

“They know of me.” he whispers to her, the sharp hiss in his voice sending a shiver down her spine. “This human's bluff will not dissuade them, if they have confirmable intel.”

Shaking her head slowly, Delilah picks up her pace again.  
“No-... That would mean that we have a traitor in the city. No outsider would know about you.” she theorizes. “I can't imagine-...”

“What? You can't imagine a single human not being supportive of your agenda, and working against it?” Biting sarcasm twists his tone, and Delilah feels a sting of anger.  
“And they would endanger the entire city, just to screw me over?” she hisses, and stops before a door. “Here we are.”

She lets go of his hand, and begins arming herself. A knife, a handgun, a P90. She thinks she will recall how to use them if need be. All personnel have received basic weapon training, exactly for situations like this.  
Seeker's walked past her, and she sees him trailing his claws over the muzzle of a stun gun, looted off his team, back when he was captured. Closing the distance to him, and places a hand on his shoulder.

“No. Lethal force only.” she says with determination, and he glances at her.  
“I do not believe it would aid my case to kill a human now.” he counters, but she shakes her head.  
“I believe stunning them would be worse. I can see someone accusing you of saving them for later.” she argues, and he seems to agree, with that little half-shrug he gives her.

Delilah feels her blood freeze in her arteries, when they step out of the armory, to face a Genii patrol of two armed men.  
Seconds pass in surprised stupor, as the two parties stare each other down. Then, one of the men opens communications to his superior.

“We found the Wraith! I repeat, we found the Wraith!” 

Seeing red, Delilah opens fire, utter terror guiding her hands, as the concentrates her assault on the floor before them, forcing them to retreat, one step at a time.  
They will not take this from her.

Just before forcing them through the door at the upper end of the corridor, Delilah registers one of them aiming at her, but she can't react fast enough-...  
Seeker's hand jolts forward, stopping her fire, as he moves in front of her, a dull impact sound, as the bullet hits him.  
Yet this time, he doesn't falter, and retaliates immediately, two precise shots from the handgun he's taken, and the threat is gone.

“Lethal force.” he repeats to her, breathing heavily. “You just used warning fire.”  
“Seeker, you-...” she gasps, and cuts off, terror still shaking her. 

There's a gaping bullet wound near his lowest rib, black blood gushing to dye his cloth shirt, but when Delilah gets a good look at it, the wound already closes.

“I will be fine.” he assures her and she nods slowly, thanking the heavens that she's let him feed on her before.

“They will know this patrol's last position, and send reinforcements, if they don't report back soon.” he then continues. “We must be on our way.”

Delilah nods then shakily points ahead.  
“Sheppard was going to the third grounding station. If we hurry, we might still find him there.”

–

The rains are coming down heavy, when they reach the balcony with the grounding station. Sheppard is still there, in between two corpses, but he whips around as soon as Seeker steps onto the platform.

There's a tense silence between the two men, as they point weapons at each other. Seeker's upper lip is drawn back in a silent snarl, and Delilah can hear a low growl emanating from him, as he glares at the human.

“Please. We need his help.” she beseeches him, and places her hand on him wrist, lightly applying pressure to force his weapon down.  
“He is pointing a weapon at me.” Seeker responds sharply, gaze still locked on Sheppard.  
“Put yours down, and I'll do the same, Steve.” the Major says. “I'm not in the mood for games.”

A second stretches into eternity, and Seeker hisses, then gives in, and lowers his gun to his side.

“The intruders were able to confirm my presence here.” he then reports stiffly.  
“Yeah. Fat chance, I know.” Sheppard responds and waves the communicator he looted of one of the corpses. “Been listening in. Their leader's killed Elizabeth.”

“What?” Delilah snaps.  
“Yeah. I know.” Sheppard confirms, stretching syllables sarcastically. “But, as much as I'm not glad to see my buddy Steve, he does give me an actual chance against the Genii. Provided, he can follow my orders.”

Seeker snarls and Sheppard shrugs.  
“I'll take that as a no.”

“Instead of assuming, perhaps you should learn to listen, Major Sheppard.” Seeker backpedals. “We came here to regroup with you. So yes. I can follow your 'orders'.”  
“Then say so, instead of getting all hissy with me. Maybe then I'll start listening.” Sheppard snaps back and Delilah sees a shift going through Seeker's form, as if he's actively restraining himself from responding with another snarl.

She puts her hand on his upper back.  
“So, Major, what do we do? Storm the Gate room?” she inquires, and Sheppard shakes his head.  
“I was thinking more of sabotage.” he begins, but Seeker butts in immediately.

“Unwise.” he comments. “You would have to race against time to undo your sabotage, should this work to drive the intruders out. The Genii may be expecting me to be here but I doubt they'll expect me to directly assault them. With a bit of cover,...”

He offers Sheppard a toothy smile.

“I can remind them of why they should be terrified of Wraith.”

“Fine, I'll bite. What do you have in mind?” he crosses his arms underneath his P90, and Seeker angles his head.

“It includes a minor instance of sabotage, which I intend to leave to Delilah. She will cut the power to the control room, while we move forward. Once I am close enough, I can begin … toying with the enemy's mind. I will cause enough panic for you to move in, and pick them apart.” Seeker explains, still keeping his sinister smile. Delilah begins to believe that he very much welcomes this little diversion. 

“What makes you think they're never encountered a Wraith before? They could know how to counter that.” Sheppard argues, but Seeker just smiles brighter.  
“If they had, they would no longer be alive.” he says sweetly. “Give her one of your communication devices.”

Sheppard hesitates, then pulls are spare two-way radio from his pocket, and offers it to her. Delilah snatches it from his hand and pockets it, them looks up to Seeker.  
“Are you sure you don't want me with you on this one?” she asks him, hushing her voice slightly, but it's no use, Sheppard hears her regardless.

“You have minimal combat training. It would only put you in harm's way.” he responds, his tone much softer than when he was addressing Sheppard. “Besides, I need someone to quickly turn the power back on. You need to stay in position.”

Delilah can do little but to nod, as the two soldier's group up, and stride down the hall, back into the city, leaving her behind.

–

Seeker feels like he has bugs crawling on his spine, in Sheppard's company. The human leads their charge, quietly scouting ahead with his lanthean device, but he keeps glancing over his shoulder, to him.

“We're there. Dr. Abbot, are you in position?” he whispers into his radio, and it crackles.  
“Almost, Major.” Delilah's distorted voice responds, and Seeker bares his teeth. He's much rather have had her by his side here, but she is a scientist, not a warrior. Sheppard was the better choice.

His better choice turns around, and leans against the wall, giving him a challenging look.  
Seeker withstands it easily.

“So, Steve.” Sheppard finally speaks. “Now that we're buddies, how about you give me some of that information you refused back then?”  
A short, joyless snort of laughter leaves him.  
“Why would I do that? According to Delilah's plans, my people will no longer be your enemy soon. What good would it do, to give you information now?” Seeker responds, but the memory of him, captive and starving, before this man's mockery still terrifies and angers him.

“Ah, y'know. Preventing some cultural misunderstandings, preventing your guys from stabbing us in the back, things like that.” Sheppard counters bitterly, but the crackle of his radio cuts this exchange short.

“Major? I'm in position. Cutting the power now.”

Heralded by Delilah's voice, darkness falls.


	12. Phantoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You do not know how often LibreOffice wanted to correct "Kolya" into "Koala".

Chapter 12 – Phantoms

As darkness falls, Seeker closes his eyes. His mind flutters alive, and he sends it out, slow tendrils of his awareness creeping past the Stargate, and up into the control room.

A tiny pang of anxiety dulls his mental blades, remembering that Sheppard is still at his side, armed to the teeth, as he allows himself to become to vulnerable.  
His presence swipes over the minds of the humans present, and latches onto any weakness he can find. Grief in some, fear of the unknown, of the dark. A deep, primal panic, as he makes vague shapes appear before them, dark leathers and long, flowing hair, twisted grimaces and clawed hands.

His phantasms dance around the Genii, screams filling the darkness, and Seeker feels Sheppard's presence move into his perimeter, followed by gunfire.

The Genii shoot aimlessly into thin air, and even from this distance, Seeker can feel them die, as Sheppard's bullets perforate them, their minds fade.  
The struggle continues, and Seeker does his best to focus, almost managing to give his phantasms the illusion of mass, turning formless shades into ghastly warriors, but Sheppard's voice breaks his concentration.

“Steve! Get your ass over here!”

He snarls, before opening his eyes again, and his pupils immediately dilate.  
The lights are on.

In a panicked hurry, he gives up his over, and begins firing on his adversaries.

–

Delilah's entire body shakes.  
She's standing with her back to the door, hands raised, her gun uselessly on the ground before her. The two Genii soldiers had surprised her, and the only reason she's still alive is that they needed her to fix the naquadah generator she's sabotaged.

Cold sweat beads on her forehead, as the one who'd acted on her instructions turns around again. He shoots her a glance, then gives his companion a brief nod, who raises his gun from aiming at her leg to her head.

He's young, she can tell. There's an almost apologetic look on his face, when he cocks the gun, and she sees his index finger shifting to the trigger.  
Delilah closes her eyes, doing her best to stifle a sob and die in dignity, but the bullet never hits.

Instead, a light click prompts her to open her eyes again, just to see the Genii soldier frantically working on reloading his weapon. Something in her mind falls into place, and she spins on her heel, to take off running.

She's only got one shot at this, and whatever bone fate's thrown her, she won't get so lucky again. Adrenaline surges, as the biologist runs for her dear life, nearly slipping and falling multiple times in the corridors.

There's quick footsteps behind her, indicating that they're chasing her, and the sound of bullets ricocheting off Atlantis' walls fuels her lungs.

She takes a sharp turn, and races down a hallway facing the opposite direction, taking turns at random, hoping to throw her pursuers off her trail.  
Then she sees it, her salvation, her chance for survival – a teleporter.

“Shoot! Shoot her now!”

Delilah doesn't look back, she just runs, her mind in a drowsy haze of panic and raw instinct. There's a gunshot behind her, and sharp pain jolts through her arm and shoulder, but she's almost there.  
Her last few steps are a leap, and she feels air leaving her in a sharp hiss, when the doors finally close on her.

Her hand hovers over the screen, while bullets bounce off the teleporter doors, and she takes a moment to make her decision – the Gate room.  
It's a bargain with fate once more. Best case? Seeker and Sheppard have secured the perimeter. Worst case? They're both dead, and she'll be shot on sight.

The beam descends on her, and when she rematerializes, her panic has subsided. The pain in her arm is worse now, and she actually catches herself gasping, as she opens the doors.

–

Seeker spins, when he hears the doors opening.  
Him and Sheppard have managed to halve the Genii's manpower, and chase the rest out of the room, so some semblance of calm has fallen over them.  
Just for a moment though.

It's Delilah, who stumbles out of the transporter, clutching her arm, and having a trickle of blood trickle down her cheek, originating from a bad laceration on her forehead.  
She sucks in air heavily, and Seeker drops everything to rush to her aid. 

“You were shot.” he redundantly states.  
“I think so.” she responds, her voice faltering, but holding on still. “They found me, and made me reactivate the generator, and then... I ran.”  
He looks down on her. She's a mess, sweaty and bloody, her body shaking from the shock of her wound, and the exhaustion she's suffered.

“You made it.” she then comments, looking over to the Doctors Weir and McKay, and Sheppard as well.  
“Yes. They are still in the city, but we retook the control room.” Seeker reports, and offers his arm to steady her.  
She gladly accepts, and lets him lead her to the rest; he urges her to sit down on the ground.

“You alright, Doc?” Sheppard asks offhandedly, and earns an angry glare from Seeker.  
“She was shot.” he hisses at him, and raises his hand to place on Delilah's chest, but she stops him, placing her palm flat against his.

“High-Five.” she says, utterly confusing him. “Keep it. I'll be okay, and you need your strength to fight.”  
He blinks at her, unmoving, and she locks her fingers with his in response.  
“You said it yourself – I have little to no combat training, and look at how my encounter with the Genii went.” she elaborates, and smiles weakly. “My wounds aren't lethal, and the Major will need your help to retake Atlantis.”

“You are in pain.” he counters, recalling her treating his wounds, not too long ago.  
“I'll live.” she responds nonchalantly. “Go, and kick some Genii butt. We have a first aid kit here, I can treat my own wounds.”

“You won't have to.” Elizabeth Weir says, stepping closer. “I had first aid training, I'll do it for you.” She gives Seeker a look, who withstands it easily. “And you, go. She's right. John will need you.”

Reluctantly, Seeker peels his hand from hers, and rises to his full height again, picking up his weapon in one, fluid motion as he does.

“I can see life signs from here, I'll guide you.” McKay offers, determination back in his voice, and Sheppard taps his radio in response, then gives Seeker a surprisingly comradely nod, before moving toward the same transporter that had spit out Delilah.

Seeker follows him, keeping up his neutral facade, while he steps into the transporter with Sheppard.  
“Y'know.” Sheppard says, as soon as the doors close. “For once, I won't mind if you drain some humans dry. So go right ahead.”

“Is it getting personal, Major Sheppard?” he sneers, and Sheppard actually looks at him now.  
“Yeah. It is.” he confirms, and activates the teleporter.

The doors open before them, revealing an open corridor, and a trail of blood leading up to them. Seeker suppresses a hiss. This must be where Delilah was shot. Sheppard is rubbing something between his fingertips.  
“There's blood on the screen.” he mutters, and then moves out into the corridor. “That way.”

Seeker follows him in silence for a good amount of time.  
“They're moving, as we do.” he eventually says, still fed information via radio. “Just so we're clear, you didn't get Kolya earlier, did you?”  
“I did not. I was busy trying not to shoot your friends.” Seeker responds sharply.  
“Then that large squad up ahead is what we're going after.” Sheppard pauses for a moment, stopping in his tracks, then turning. “On second thought, go hide somewhere.”

“Why?”

The human gives him an annoyed, impatient stare.  
“Because they just changed direction and started moving toward us. We're gonna ambush them here.” he explains and takes cover behind a pillar.  
Seeker wants to clap back that, unlike him, he doesn't have access to that information, that none of this is a reason to treat him like a fool, but the approaching footfalls, have him simply snarling silently, before concealing himself in an open doorway.

“They're got to be somewhere around here. I know they were following us.” Kolya's voice. Seeker grits his teeth, and switches his gun into his off hand. 

Sheppard makes a rapid 'forward' motion with his free hand, and Seeker quietly inclines his head downward.  
Then, as soon as the squad passes between them, they attack.

Sheppard moves from his hiding spot and opens fire, Seeker flanks the group, and gets a series of well-aimed shots off, that send a good five of them to the ground.  
Their leader, Kolya, briefly makes eye contact with him.

The man seemingly shrugs off the bullet he's taken to the shoulder, and fires twice, rapidly in succession. Searing pain surges from Seeker's knees, up to his hips. A breathy snarl escapes him, as he tries to perform damage control, by dropping his weapon, and catching his fall with his off hand.

His kneecaps are shattered, he can almost feel the splintered bone digging into tissue. Well fed or not, he'd have to carefully arrange the fragments before mending them. His snarl turns into a rage-fueled roar as he uses whatever chance he still has to lunge forward, grab Kolya by his belt, and yank him down to the ground with him.

Bullets whir past him, as he struggles with the human on the ground, managing to wring the gun from his hand, and taking a series of punches to the face in response.  
A metallic taste fills his mouth, and he spits a mouthful of blood at Kolya beneath him, retaliating way worse, his metal fingerguards leaving a bloody scrape mark on the man's already scarred cheek.

He's gritting his teeth, and before Seeker can react, he has a knife in his abdomen. Retching, and winds up again and punches the man with his off hand, before letting it lock around his throat, pinning him down.

Recalling Sheppard's words, he hisses, pulls the knife from his body, and uses it to cut loose the man's coat, before slamming his hand down on his chest.

It's almost nostalgic, the raw feeling of power and dominance, as he draws Kolya's years from his body, making him pay for every drop of blood he's made him shed.  
The disrespect, the audacity. He wanted to capture Seeker, and potentially treat him worse than Sheppard had. Cage him like an animal.

It's more than pride, when Seeker's claws scrape skin, while his prey's struggle fades into quiet compliance.  
Pain.  
Delilah had said it hurt. He's seen her pain, and it's burnt him. But this is different.  
He relishes in the man's suffering, as he snuffs out his light.

“Are you quite done?” 

Sheppard's insufferable voice tears Seeker from this moment, and he lets up, leaving Kolya's aged, faded form behind.  
He flips onto his back, sits up, and almost casually knocks his kneecaps back into place.

“You said I could feed on those.” he reminds the human, and silently acknowledges his skill, seeing the battlefield around him.  
“Yeah. But look at your killcount, Steve. One against, what, ten?”

He almost accepts the name for a moment.  
“What? Are you complaining about my efficiency?” he jabs and Sheppard gives him a shrug.  
“Yes, I am! We still got stragglers to take care of, so get a move on, will ya?”

Seeker shuffles to his feet, and hurries to follow his unlikely companion.

Neither of them see the tormented form of Acastus Kolya slowly rise, gather his weapons, and very, very carefully, fight himself to his feet.  
Kolya is no fool. He knows when he lost.

“This is Commander Kolya. Assemble in the Gate room. We are retreating.” he speaks into his radio, his voice hoarse and shaky, as he moves his aching body forward. 

–

Delilah awakens with one hell of a headache, and finds herself on the ground. She must've blacked out briefly, she thinks, and reaches for the weapon on the ground.

Elizabeth and McKay are out cold as well. A familiar noise catches her attention, and she gets up, swaying dangerously, and moves to the small balcony that overlooks the Gate room, steadying herself on the railings.  
It's the Stargate.  
It's active.

She has the mind to duck, when she hears footsteps, peeking through the bars to see a handful of Genii hurry to the Event Horizon, carrying one of the own, pale and faded, like the many Wraith victims she's seen.  
Her gun is pointed at them, and her heart races, but she lowers it.

She's injured, alone as an untrained civilian against four armed soldiers. They're retreating. Delilah exhales, and closes her eyes.

It's best to let them go. Isn't it?


	13. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twelve Chapters worth of sexual tension pay off. Wooo!

Chapter 13 – Trust

The doors slide shut behind them and Delilah feels like several tons worth of weight were just lifted off her shoulders.  
Both her and Seeker are standing there, backs to the door, next to each other. He looks down to her.

The city is safe. No Genii left, and the storm has passed them, causing little to no damage, thanks to McKay's plan to use the storm's own power for the shields, and now, Atlantis is slowly welcoming back its denizens.

Seeker's glance still lingers.  
“You were lucky.” he then begins. “You were moving when they shot you, falsifying their aim. They were going for your heart.”  
Delilah gulps. Yes, Carson told her that too, when he had treated the wound. Seeker had probably overheard that.  
He's still looking down on her, and Delilah takes initiative to turn toward him.

“Yeah. I almost died, and so did you. I think, you'd still win if you turned the amount of bullets taken into a contest.” she jabs at him, trying to lighten the mood a little. It works, as evident by his smirk.  
“That is a terrible thing to be competitive about.” he responds, a bit gentler in tone. His off hand lifts, and hovers over her shoulder for a moment, then he very gingerly sets it down, concerned about causing her pain.

There's a sense of anxiety in her chest, when she clears her throat and seeks eye contact to him. His pupils fan open when he focuses her.  
“Listen, I need to talk to you about something.” she opens, seeing very minor changes in his expression. She's gotten pretty good at reading him. She's aware, he can smell her anxiety, can hear her sped up heartbeat, but she's made her decision, now that she's nearly died once.

“What you said earlier, before this whole mess.” she reminds him. “I know, you always say that humans sexualize everything, but, like...” That's gotten his attention, and a playful smirk has appeared on his lips. Great. “Y'know, I don't really sexualize Wraith as a whole, I just sexualize you.” She actually has to laugh herself. “Okay, that was awful and I'm terrible at this.”

“Yes. Yes, you are.” he confirms, absolutely not helping, and tilts his head.  
“Look, I don't know if you guys have certain like, .. courting rituals, if so, let me know, because i-...”  
“Because you'd like to court me?” Seeker completes her sentence, still smirking, like a complete douchebag, as Delilah bitterly notes to herself.

“I mean, yes?” She helplessly flails her hands by her sides as she speaks. “We've been cuddling and sleeping in the same bed for a few days now, and I dunno, I just...”  
“Forgive me.” he says softly. “I am not used to being courted.”  
“Sorry, I-...”  
“That does not mean that I dislike it.”

Either his words, or his hand tilting her chin upward, have her hold her breath briefly.  
“Then what does it mean?” she asks sheepishly, her determination from before slowly fading.  
“Close your eyes.” he simply responds, and without even second-guessing him, she complies.

She hears him shift a little, and then, there's a soft press of lips on hers. 

For a heartbeat, she is frozen in place, not believing what is happening right now, but she catches herself quickly, eager not to let him think he's overstepped a boundary.  
Delilah returns the pressure, and realizing that he's waiting for her to take the next step, lightly parts her lips and nudges his with her tongue.

The low rumble emanating from his chest almost startles her, but his hand moving behind her head, and his claws drawing slow circles on her scalp quickly negate that effect.  
He responds to her, shifting from a chaste press of lips to an actual kiss seamlessly.

Oh shit, Delilah thinks, upon realizing just how different Wraith anatomy is. 

Now that the ice is broken, he quickly takes charge, and leads her, his leathery tongue much too agile for her. Not able to keep up, Delilah allows herself to become entirely passive, while Seeker's right hand comes to rest on her back, and pulls her closer.

He has a faint, musky taste to him, and keeps her away from his razor-sharp teeth with nearly shocking precision. Delilah can feel him breathe, and the tiny tickle of his beard sends shivers down her spine.

This is happening, she thinks. She's officially, undeniably, making out with a Wraith.  
Her Wraith.

Seeker pins her to the wall, careful not to make the gunshot wound on her arm worse, and presses against her, deepening the kiss once more. Heat rises in Delilah's cheeks, after a moan escapes her, captured by his lips, and she raises her good arm to take hold of his hair.

He's eventually the one to break the kiss, but he remains close to her, his thumb trailing over her cheek.  
“Will you let me heal your arm?” he asks, his voice raspier than usual, and Delilah nods breathlessly, still dizzy.  
It is only when he moves his hand up between their bodies, and seals his feeding mouth against her skin that she realizes what she just agreed to.

The first wave of energy hits her like a truck.  
Heat spreads from the incision on her chest, further into her body, and the wound on her arm lights up with a tingling sensation, akin to the odd feeling when one's leg falls asleep. Seeker's presence fills her to her core, and she begins feeling light headed, trembling under his hand.

It's him. Truly, purely him, he's an entity, rather than a physical presence, connecting to her on a level she didn't even know she could access. It feels like her holds her heart in his hand.

The feeling subsides as quickly as it'd hit her, and Delilah is left gasping, slumped against his chest. No more subtle, throbbing pain in her arm. She doesn't need to check, she knows the wound is gone.

“Will-... will you be okay?” she breathes, and leans back against the wall.  
“I will.” he responds, a little bit of blood glistening on his open palm. He shifts to wipe it away on his clothes, but she stops him.  
“Oh come on, do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood stains out of clothing?” she scolds him, and for a second, he looks genuinely concerned about having upset her. “Let me do that for you.”

Delilah gives him a nudge, and guides him to sit down on her bed with her, still holding his bloody hand.  
His statement that the feeding organ is sensitive is still in the back of her mind, despite how much happened between then and now. Seeker regards her quietly, but unmistakably intrigued.

It says a lot about him trusting her, when he lets her lift his hand up to her lips, without a single clue of what she's up to.  
Careful not to accidentally hurt him, Delilah trails the contours of the slit with her tongue, feeling his body stiffen. He doesn't stop her, instead, he relaxes his finger and spreads them away from his palm, to give her better access. Delilah takes that as wordless encouragement.

Underneath the metallic taste of her own blood, there's something sweet to the odd texture, when she pushes her tongue tip into the delicate organ. It's warm in there, much warmer than the rest of his body, and she can feel a faint throb, his pulse, through the thin skin of the darkened tissue. 

Looking up, she can see that he has his eyes clenched shut, and his off hand pressed onto his mouth. Delilah runs her tongue along the organ again, and then seals her mouth against its central part and sucks.  
Seeker's hand moves quickly, punching himself in the thigh, and sucking in air sharply. She pulls away, and takes a good look at his hand – the slit's wide open, and leaks enzyme.

“I take it you enjoyed that.” she asks him cheekily, and he just nods, seemingly needing a moment to gather himself.  
“You remembered that.” he finally says, almost in an accusatory tone.  
“Gotta be careful what you tell us humans. You can never know when we'll use it against you.” she jests. “Come to think of it... did you feel that way when I took that enzyme sample too?”

“It was easier to overplay.” he admits. “After all, you did not lick it.”  
“And you accused me of sexualizing something that's... already sexual.” she reminds him sharply.  
“Part of my facade.” he explains, and Delilah marvels at how breathless he still sounds.

His eyes look oddly dark, she notes, and upon closer inspection, she realizes that his pupils have opened so far that only a thin ring of gold remains. Her heart jumps in her chest.

“Listen, I-...” She pauses to sigh, more to relieve anxiety than communicate anything. “I want to continue this, but I'm unsure of-... well, everything. I'm anything but a blushing virgin, but, as you can guess, I've never been with a Wraith before. I don't even know if you have genitals!”

“If that is your only concern, I can console you: I do have genitals.” he responds, in good natured mockery.  
“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” she defends herself, thankful for the light-hearted response.  
His darkened eyes glitter with a different kind of hunger, when he turns furtherly toward her.

“You can convince yourself, if you want to.” he offers, his low, raspy voice making Delilah shiver again.  
“Oh wow.” she comments on that, flat and unimaginative, but she can't really come up with anything better, now that she has Wraith dick to look forward to.  
She pauses to wonder how the hell she got into this situation.  
He seems to misinterpret her, and angles his head.  
“Delilah.” he says. “We do not have to go any further, if you are unsure.”  
“No. I'm sure. It's fine.” she hurries to assure him. “I want this. I want you. God, I want you really bad.”

“Come, then.” he purrs, and shifts a little, then pulls her onto his lap. It feels strange, being this close to him, in this context, but Delilah doesn't mind it.  
She runs her hand through his hair, feeling its softness, then leans in to kiss him.

He holds back this time, allowing her to explore. Her hand twirls his beard onto her finger, while she softly sucks on his lower lip, making him rumble pleasantly again. As she leans against him, he moves a little, just adjusting his position, and suddenly, Delilah feels a very obvious erection pressing against her thigh.

A jolt of excitement rushes through her, and she feels herself becoming more eager to take him up on his offer.  
She slips her hand under his shirt, very grateful that he's not wearing his leathers, as she'd have had no idea how to get those off him, and slides the fabric up. He obediently leans back, and lets her pull the garment over his head.  
Turning back to exploring, she lowers her head, and begins trailing light kisses down his neck, and along his collarbone, feeling the vibration of his purr in his chest. Her hands find the bony ridges on his spine, and she traces them, slowly circling the bone protrusions.

A hoarse sound escapes him, rippling through Delilah, and she realizes that he moaned.

“Oh god.” she whispers, and feels him chuckle.

She leans back again, to look at his face, and feels a sense of satisfaction.  
There are darker spots up his neck and on his cheeks, probably the Wraith equivalent to a flush. His hands run down her sides, and rest on her hips, as they hold eye contact for a moment.

“I think I wanna see your genitals.” Delilah says, and as soon as the words are over her lips, she feels the urge to slap herself. That was probably the least sexy, and most awkward thing she's ever said.  
Seeker doesn't seem to mind it much, apart from another chuckle. 

“You shall.” he hums, and Delilah hurries to get off his lap.  
Seeker looks entirely comfortable, when he undoes the knot holding his pants in place, and then shucks them down in one swift movement, along with his underwear. Delilah almost snickers at the fact that it has polka dots on it, likely because he's been given random items of clothing to change into.

Her gaze quickly focuses more important things than patterned underwear.

He does indeed have genitals, very close to the human version thereof, but Delilah can clearly see a series of ridges at the sides of his shaft, and a line of raised tissue on its underside, from the tip down to his testicles. Delilah is genuinely surprised that he even has any.

Shyly, she moves to touch, aware of him watching her every move. He's got his lower lip pulled in, chewing on it, while Delilah wraps her hand around the base of his shaft.  
It's smooth to the touch, just like the rest of him, but marginally softer to the touch. Her hand slowly moves higher up, and he tenses. The ridges feel tougher, almost calloused against Delilah's palm, and she looks up to him.

“Do you want this?” she asks him, with a strangely solemn tone to her voice.  
“Of course.” he rasps, punctuating his statement with a roll of his hip, creating the friction he probably aches for.  
Delilah leans forward to kiss him, his teeth scraping against her tongue, as he hungrily returns the kiss, but she pulls back before she can lose herself in it again.

Determined and methodological in her movement, she shifts herself behind him, and presses a kiss onto his spine, before letting her palms slide down his loins, and claim his erection again. He leans against her, and deep breath moving his torso, and Delilah carefully squeezes him in her hands.

She places her right hand on his tip, to slowly circle it, while her left begins pumping, gradually picking up her pace, as she observes his reactions. His low purr persists, sometimes hitching, along with his labored breaths. Glancing down on his, she can see his muscles work as he tries to school his breathing back into a normal ratio,  
As she proceeds, he begins bucking his hips into her touch, low, growly moans escaping him more often, as he slowly surrenders control.  
His head rolls back, resting on her shoulder, and she begins kissing his neck, enticing more pleased sounds from him.

Encouraged, she bites down, pulling some skin between her front teeth, and sucking on it hard. It bruises him, a dark stain remaining on his throat, but it heals off much too fast. He moans in response, so Delilah presumes that he liked that.  
It's no surprise that someone as growly and snarly as him would enjoy a bit of teeth during sex.

Her left hand has now resorted to rubbing the lowered space between his ridges, causing his legs to quiver under her touch, and his eyes flutter shut.  
She angles it, and runs her fingertips along the raised line along the underside, her touch feather-light and teasing – he growls at her, and she grins, before biting him again.  
It doesn't do much, her teeth aren't sharp enough to break his tough skin, but the pressure makes him wince.

It's intoxicating, exerting this much power over an ancient predator, watching him quiver and moan under her hands. Delilah can feel his breathing, his pulse throbbing under her lips.

She moves trailing her fingers over his testicles, then lightly cupping them in a soft massage, very careful not to accidentally hurt him, while her right hand changes places to continue pumping him.  
He draws breath hard, and she can feel him bracing himself for something. Her question is answered, when he speaks, his voice cracking with every stroke of her hand.

“I'm close.” he informs her, and she's genuinely impressed that he managed to construct a coherent sentence.  
Whatever the reason he's warning her, she elects not to heed it.

She wants him to come, wants to feel him lose control like that, so she picks up her pace, rhythmically applying pressure with her right hand. Seeker gasps, and resumes rolling his hips into her touch, erratically now.

Her left hand moves up again, forming a ring with her thumb and index finger, to place around his tip, slowly bringing it up and down, and she can feel a tremble run through the Wraith's form.

He lets out a strangled groan as he comes, spilling over Delilah's hands – and the carpet, but she hardly cares. Helping him ride out his orgasm, she continues massaging him, until he eventually goes soft in her touch.

His eyes are closed, as his breathing regulates again, recovering and coming down from his high. Delilah kisses his neck while he does, and discreetly wipes her hands on the sheets, before wrapping her arms around his waist. Her wrists ache, but it was worth it.

“You're good at this.” he finally articulates and Delilah grins against his neck. She's getting complimented on her hand job skills by a Wraith. The absurdity of the situation somewhat drowns in its intimacy.  
“You're welcome.” she responds, and he liberates himself from her embrace, to turn and face her. His pupils have dilated back to a normal size, but the dark flush on his face remains.  
“I will return the favor, if you'll let me.” he offers, but she shakes her head.

“As much as I'd love that, I need some sleep.” she declines, and plants a kiss on his nose. “Might take you up on that tomorrow.”  
“Very well.” he responds, and moves out of her way to let her lie down. She curls her fingers to him in a beckoning gesture.

“Come lie down with me.” she asks. “You don't need to get dressed.”


	14. Understanding

Chapter 14 – Understanding

Delilah wakes up in her Wraith's arms again, as she has before. What's new is that said Wraith is now completely naked, and nuzzling the nape of her neck.

He's awake, having been holding her quietly for god knows how long, waiting for her to wake on her own. It's almost cute.  
Seeker lifts his head, to look down on her face when she stirs, and loosens his embrace, so she can sit up. When he follows her, Delilah catches herself giggling nervously.

The blanket is loosely draped around his hips, giving him some semblance of modesty, while also really not leaving much to the imagination.

“Good morning.” she says with a grin. She hasn't forgotten his offer from the evening before.  
“Good morning.” he parrots, the human phrase sounding odd from him.  
“So.” she continues. “Last night was a thing that happened.”  
“That, it was.” he agrees. “Do you regret it?”  
“Not even a little. You?”

The Wraith flashes a wolfish smile at her.  
“I never regret pleasure.” he then responds, making Delilah giggle like a schoolgirl again.  
She never expected this suggestive tone from a Wraith, especially not directed at her. Then again, she also wouldn't have expected to hold a Wraith's penis in her hands either. Again, she has to laugh, at the sheer absurdity of her situation.

“Well, then.” she says, crawling out from under the sheets, and moving to get up. “I'm going to take a shower.” She pauses, and attempts a seductive smile. “You're welcome to join me, if you want.”

She hasn't even reached the bathroom door before her catches up to her, in all his naked glory. Delilah feels a deep flush on her cheeks, as Seeker seemingly has no issue with his own nudity. His claws trail down her cheek, and along her jawline, his touch barely a whisper on her skin.  
It amazes her, just how careful he is with her human fragility.

His lips brush against hers, and his teeth gently nick her lower lip, but he pulls away before the kiss can escalate, and makes a wide gesture toward the bathroom door.  
“After you.” he insists, and Delilah complies willingly.

As soon as the door snaps shut behind them, she feels him approach again. His hands wander up her stomach, underneath her shirt, and pull it over her head. She feels his body against her back, and has the sudden impulse to hide her chest with her arms, the cool air making her shiver lightly.  
Seeker disperses that impulse easily.

His fingers trace the surgical scar on her abdomen, then wander further south, sliding her sweatpants down, along with her panties, just like he'd done it the night before.  
He's efficient, she guesses, and turns around, stopping him by wrapping her hands around his wrists. He looks at her blankly, but his pupils are already widening, and Delilah doesn't have to look down to determine the state of his arousal – he's already eagerly pressing himself against her.

“Impatient, much?” she teases.  
“Time-efficient.” he counters, but she can hear his voice tremble.  
“If there's anything we have plenty of today, it's time.” she tells him, and backs off, pulling him along by his hands. “Come.”

She steps into the shower backwards, lets go of him, and turns on the warm water. Praised be the Ancients, she thinks, recalling the crappy shower in her old apartment, back on Earth. Here, she never has to wait for the water to reach her desired temperature.

She reaches up into the tiny shelf, and picks a bottle of rose-scented body wash, which Seeker promptly snatches from her hands.  
“Just relax.” he asks of her, while pouring copious amounts of the substance into his off hand, and positioning himself behind her again.  
A clatter tells Delilah that he's cast the bottle aside carelessly, and she makes an embarrassing, squeaky noise, when the cold gel hits her back.  
Seeker chuckles at her reaction, and behind slowly spreading the soap from her lower back, up to her shoulder blades, and then down her front, over her breasts and belly. She tenses a little, interested in what he's planning, and leans against him comfortably. His lower body temperature leaves a little to be desired, but she forgives him for that.

His thumbs flick over her nipples, and then begin gently circling them, no longer caring much about the soap as his excuse. Delilah feels his lips on her neck, but unlike her, he doesn't dare to bring teeth into the equation. His are a lot more dangerous than hers, after all.

He shifts, his off hand grabs her left shoulder, his forearm crossing over her chest, as if he was putting her in a chokehold.  
“Hold on to me.” he whispers into her ear, and she trusts that recommendation immediately, grabbing his arm with both hand, and closing her eyes, bracing for what's to come.

And oh, he doesn't disappoint.

His feeding hand travels down her stomach and settles between her legs, index- and middle finger parting her labia. Zero hesitation or shyness in his touch. Delilah opens her eyes, and shuffles her legs apart a little, to give him better access.  
His palm comes to rest on her vulva, and remains there. For a second, Delilah wonders what he plans to achieve with this, but he answers her unspoken question very quickly.

There's a shift in his palm's texture, faint movement, and then, heat.  
Delilah yelps helplessly, when his feeding organ seals against her clitoris, sucking lightly, moving and contracting against her.  
That's the only thing he does, there's no motion in his hand, but he doesn't need to. 

She swears, and digs her nails into his arm, feeling her knees sag, as the pressure in her loins builds. The organ is incredibly hot against her, and she feels liquid, bright red enzyme running down her legs. It tingles intensely, almost making her sob, and Seeker quickly switches his other arm's position, wrapping it around her waist to hold her upright.  
There's a tiny pain, and it's soon followed by a familiar, but much more intense sensation.

Raw energy flows into her, rippling through her entire abdomen, and she cries out, immediately climaxing, while calling him all sorts of names for this. The worst about it is that she can feel him smile against her neck.

“Shh.” he hums. “One might think I'm killing you.”

Now completely relying on his hold for support, Delilah whimpers.  
“You are.” she gasps, as soon as she can speak again.  
There's still stars on the edges of her vision, and her knees feel like jello.

“You gave me the Gift of Life through my clitoris!” she accuses him, as he withdraws his hand.  
“I did that.” he responds casually.  
“Is that even allowed? That's gotta be some sort of sacrilege!” Delilah is still breathing heavily, accentuating her exasperation.  
“Sexuality doesn't carry any negative connotations among Wraith.” he simply responds, and releases her. She has to steady herself on his shoulders.

“Yeah, I can see that now.” she breathes, grabs him by the beard, and kisses him.  
He's very eager, and pushes her against the wall immediately, sucking hard on her lower lip, while she works her hand between their bodies, wrapping her fingers around his erection.

He's rock hard, and pushes impatiently into her hand, his mouth travels down to her neck again, nibbling this time. Still not hard enough to break skin, even though Delilah almost wants him to. Whispering his name hungrily, she tries to wrap one leg around his hip, but can't find much purchase. Apparently, Wraith are very slippery when wet.

“We should take this to the bedroom.” she then suggests, getting a low rumble in response, and not a single word of warning, before he scoops her up like she weighs nothing, and nonchalantly carries her out the shower.

Delilah's pulse speeds up when he drops her on her bed, and climbs over her, pushing her knees apart with his own. But there's not much room in her mind for anxiety. Enzyme still tingles on her vulva, and she eagerly embraces him when he settles between her legs.

“Delilah.” he says, his darkened eyes lingering on her hungrily.  
“Yes?” she responds shakily, feeling his erection press against her.  
“I want you to bite me.” he requests, and the sheer directness of his request excites her to no end. She grabs his damp hair, and pulls him closer, into a kiss, and bites down hard on his lip. He rumbles appreciatively, pulling back to begin nibbling on her earlobe.

She moans, and just as she feels him shift to penetrate her... 

… the door bell sounds.

“Oh, are you kidding me...” she groans, feeling him immediately withdraw, and sits up with him.

“Dr. Abbot? Are you alright?” That's Major Sheppard's voice. Delilah shakes her head, and tries to think clearly.

“Go, hide in the bathroom.” she tells Seeker, and he has the presence of mind to toss her a bathrobe before closing the door behind him.

“Dr. Abbot!”

She hurries to put the robe on and tie it shut, then stumbles to the door, and opens.  
“Major. What is it?” she snaps at him, doing her best to sound like she was disturbed taking a shower, not getting dicked down by an alien.

“Some people heard screams, so they asked me to investigate. Were worried, because of your roommate.” Sheppard gets on his tiptoes, trying to get a glimpse of the room behind her. “Where is he, anyway?”  
“Showering.” Delilah responds, and immediately bites her tongue.  
“...And you were... not showering?” Sheppard asks, raising his brow at her.  
“Uh, yes, I was, but... Now he is.” Delilah tries to salvage the situation, while Sheppard takes in all the clues.

No sign of Seeker, no running water from the shower, messed up sheets on her bed, and a very suspicious flush on her cheeks. He connects the dots, and his expression shifts from confused to disgusted.

“Oh my god, please tell me you're not boning the Wraith.” he almost begs, and Delilah wants the ground to split open and swallow her.  
“Look, there's nothing in our protocol that says we can't bone the Wraith.” she tries to defend herself and swear she can hear Seeker chuckle behind the bathroom door.  
“Just because you can doesn't mean that you should!” Sheppard counters, still absolutely flabbergasted. “He's a Wraith!”

“He's a person!” she snaps back, the awkwardness of the situation immediately turning into anger. “I'm tired of this argument! Were it not for him, you would have never reclaimed Atlantis, he risked his life for us, and you know that very well! Listen, I can see why me boning a Wraith might surprise or even shock you, but I'm not going to have this discussion with you!”

Sheppard closes his eyes, lightly shaking his head.  
“I commend you for your work on the vaccine, Doc, but you gotta understand that this entire... arrangement is a bit much to get used to so quickly.” he then says, a lot more diplomatic. “Just... maybe try not to scream when you're... doing whatever, I don't even want to know. We're all concerned for your safety, okay?”

She blinks a few times. That, she hadn't expected, in fact, she was fully prepared to go into a full blown debate over the extent of human rights with this man, only dressed in a bathrobe, but this much, dare she say, understanding, came very unexpected.

“Thank you, Major.” she says.  
“Yeah. You're welcome. Carry on... I guess.”  
Sheppard turns, still shaking his head, and walks down the hall.

Delilah closes the door, and turns around.  
Okay. That killed the mood.

When Seeker leaves the bathroom to rejoin her, he's wearing underwear again.  
“You defended me.” he states.  
“Yeah. Of course I defended you.” she confirms, giving him a confused look. “What did you think I'd do?”

“To be quite frank, I assumed you'd agree, tell your people what they want to hear, regardless of your own beliefs and feelings.” he opens up. “I did not expect you to actually stand up for me.”  
“I'd be quite the hypocrite if I did that, wouldn't I?” she responds, while he embraces her. “Sorry about that. Killed the vibe, didn't it?”

“Not for me.” he denies. “I just got dressed in case Major Sheppard decides to search the room for me.”  
The image of Sheppard getting an eyeful of dick makes Delilah laugh out loud.  
“Good idea.” she praises him. “So, should we, uh... pick up where we left off?”

He nods, and leads her back to bed, losing his underwear in the process.  
“Sit down by the edge.” she instructs him and he obeys, watching her untie her robe, and leaving it open, as she approaches, and straddles his lap.  
“I'm in a better position to bite you like this.” she explains, making him smile briefly.  
“Excellent.” he purrs, placing his hands on her hips, and helps her situate herself.

She feels him push against her entrance, and establishes eye contact. She's ready for this. She's so ready.  
Seeker draws breath sharply, when she slowly eases herself down his length, marveling at the sensation of the ridges grinding against her walls. 

There it is, her contribution to this expedition's scientific discoveries. Neil Armstrong was the first man on the moon, she can call herself the first woman on...  
Delilah decides not to continue articulating that particular train of thought. Instead, she experimentally rolls her hips against him, in a vague, circular motion, the tightness in her abdomen aching pleasantly. Seeker's hands on her hips twitch, and he moves too, lightly thrusting upward, to compliment her movement.

They start slow, finding their rhythm, slowly rocking against each other, and Delilah leans against him, pressing her lips against his throat, thrilled by the vibration his constant purr produces.  
It's her who sets the pace, he simply adapts, moaning softly, right next to her ear, his breath tickling her a little.  
Delilah's hands run up and down his spine, feeling the muscles work under his skin, as he pushes into her.

The scent of her body wash still lingers, and makes her hazy, but she enjoys that their contact has caused him to smell exactly like her now. The robe has slipped down her back, and she briefly lets go of him to discard it.

He's close to her, so very close, but never close enough. Moaning, she shifts, and reaches for his hand, bringing it up to her chest.  
“Feed on me.” she breathes, and that request alone draws a moan from him, as he seals his feeding mouth against her damp skin.  
Delilah closes her eyes, as he breaks her skin, connecting to her system, and very carefully, slower than usual, begins drawing life from her.

It's similar to the Gift of Life now, his raw presence touching hers, a feeling of unity and synchronization. Soon, her breath and heartbeat matches his, and his head has sunken against her shoulder, rumbling softly.

Delilah digs her fingers into his hair, and presses him against her, leaving his arm folded between their bodies. She feels light headed, but the feeding makes her body feel hypersensitive, every thrust of his hips, every tiny movement is suddenly overwhelming, and it doesn't take long until she sees stars again.

She bites down on his shoulder, muffling her cry as she comes, contracting and tensing around him, and his hips snap against hers.  
There's a shudder running through their entwined forms, as they both ride out their climax, and it takes several minutes for them to unravel from each other.

His hand unlatches and he pulls her down onto the sheets with him, holding her in his arms still. Delilah still breathes heavily, feeling a buzz through her bones, and clings willingly to him.

“Seeker,” she asks for his attention, and he hums in response. The words feel heavy and meaningful, when she articulates them aloud. “I think I love you.”  
At first, there's no response, only a soft press of lips on her forehead, soothing her anxiety that rises, immediately after these words have left her.

“I am yours.” he then simply says, his words lingering in the air for a few moments, before they reach her.  
When they do, she sits up and pulls him close to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, they're done fucking for now, I swear


	15. Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

Chapter 15 – Future

“Morning, dear!” Carson cheerfully greets her. “Didn't expect you back so soon, with your arm.”  
Delilah smiles at him. It's true, Carson had warmly recommended she stay in her quarters for at least a week, despite the bullet just having grazed her, without injuring her bone structure much.

“Actually, my arm is just fine.” She shuffles her jacket down, and rolls the sleeve of her T-shirt up, to show off the utter lack of a wound there. “My Wraith insisted on healing me.”  
“Your Wraith.”  
“Hey, you started that! Besides, he's not comfortable with me giving his name out to other people.” Delilah takes a seat by her workstation, and boots up her computer.

“You know his name?” Carson asks, eyebrows raised, as she glances past his screen.  
“I do. It's kind of a big deal for him.” she responds, then pauses, pointing at her screen. “Oh. That...”

“Oh, yes, sorry!” Carson gets up and hurries to her side. “I made some adjustments to your formula, to decrease the incubation period. Elizabeth says, once we're ready to mass-produce, we are greenlit to do so. Teyla's already spreading word on other planets, and we have at least two human communities that are willing to take the vaccine.”

“Good! That's good!” Delilah says, clapping him on the shoulder appreciatively. “Just one half of the work, though. We also need to sell that idea to the Wraith.”  
“Well, that's on you and your Wraith.” Carson says. “This is what you wanted, isn't it? A peace movement?”

She leans back and crosses her arms.  
“It is. But that doesn't mean I'm not at least a little bit nervous about bargaining with an entire Hive worth of Wraith.”  
“You think yours is an exception to the rule?” he inquires.  
“Mh, no, not really. But it took me a lot of work to earn his trust, and unless you want me to take each individual Wraith on camping trips, I doubt it'll go as smoothly.” Delilah says, adding the bit about falling in love in her mind.

Sheppard must've kept quiet about his... discovery the day before, otherwise Carson would absolutely have confronted her about it, out of concern alone. Delilah sighs, and begins scrolling through the formula.  
“I should actually bring him here, so we can discuss this together.” she then says, and Carson nods. “You okay with that?”  
“I'm not afraid of him anymore.” he assures her, and Delilah smiles at him.  
“That's an important step toward my vision, you know. No fear.” She gets up, and claps her hands. “I'll be back in a bit.”

–

“Seeker?” she carefully asks into the darkened room. Wraith have darkvision, so he rarely turns on the light when he's alone, and Delilah can't really be sure whether or not he's actually awake.

“Here.” his voice directs her to the east corner of the room, by her bookshelf. Relieved, she switches on the light, and finds him there, at her desk, with a book in his hands. He blinks rapidly, as his eyes adjust to the light.

“Hey, I have good news.” she begins. “Carson told me that we're pretty much ready to go into mass production, and Atlantis is doing its part on the human side of the issue.”  
He closes his book without placing a bookmark, and gets up, walks toward her. There's an odd expression on his face, somehow hopeful.

“Then it is time for me to go home?” he asks softly, and Delilah smiles, a feeling of warmth spreading in her chest.  
“Yes, I think so. Come, follow me. We have a few things to plan.” She takes his hand, and leads him out of the room, shamelessly holding it through the more populated areas of the city.

Delilah only lets go once they reach her lab.   
Upon seeing Seeker, Carson gets up, as if to formally greet him. Instead, he just nods.  
“You're here, good.” he says. “We need to discuss some things.”

“So I've heard.” Seeker responds, and confidently walks into the room by himself.  
“I think it would make sense to take a blood sample from you, to give your people a set of data on the effects of the vaccine.” Carson begins, obviously just as eager to finish this project as Delilah is.  
Seeker rolls up his sleeve.  
“That would be beneficial. We are naturally wary, and my Queen will require solid proof before making any sort of arrangement for this vaccine to be distributed to the entire Hive.” he agrees, and Carson nods.  
“Understandable. We were enemies for a very long time.” he says, while producing a syringe from his lab coat. “Is it alright if I-...?”  
“You have taken samples from me before, Doctor. Do it.” Seeker urges him.

“I took them while you were unconscious.” Carson counters. “It's different.”  
“Yes.” Seeker says, and tilts his head. “This time, you have my consent.”

There's a brief pause, and Delilah swears she sees a hint of guilt in Carson's eyes, before he goes ahead to settle the needle against Seeker's skin.  
“Right.” he mutters, while the dark blood fills the syringe. “I'll run a full analysis on the sample, and give you the data when I'm done.”

“Very well.” Seeker says, and pushes his sleeve back down.

“Let's move on.” Delilah gently intrudes. “Sheppard will oversee our part of the mission, so we should go see him.”  
“Oh, I am convinced he'll be dying to speak to me.” Seeker purrs, as he goes to follow her.

–

Major Sheppard and Dr. Weir are awaiting them both in the latter's office. Seeker looks strangely out of place in this environment, now that the city is no longer in a state of disarray.

“Have a seat.” Weir says, when they close the door behind them. “Before we go into any detail regarding future endeavors, Dr. Abbot. We need to discuss something else.”

Both embarrassment and fear make Delilah freeze in place, and she nods mechanically.

“Your... relationship.” Weir begins, shooting Seeker a glance. “Major Sheppard informed me of a rather concerning development thereof, and, well, I would like to hear your side of the story.”  
Delilah draws breath to speak, then clears her throat to buy herself time. She has no clue what to tell this woman, but Seeker comes to her aid.

“Delilah Abbot and I have developed an emotional connection during the course of our cooperation.” he nonchalantly explains. “And, as emotionally connected people do, we had intercourse. That is all.”  
Sheppard averts his gaze in obvious disgust, but Weir leans in.

“My concern is for Dr Abbot specifically. You are physically superior to her, and-...”

Seeker cuts her off rather sharply.  
“The thought of forcing oneself upon another alone is repulsive.” he shuts her down, very obviously suppressing a hiss. “The concept of sexual assault is an entirely human invention.”  
Delilah feels a sharp pain in her wrists, and has to manually relax her clenched fists.  
“It's true, Dr. Weir.” she speaks up. “I consented. If this is your only concern regarding my relationship to this Wraith, then you can rest assured, I am fine.”

“I realize that this is a possibility, when we ally ourselves with the Wraith, and consider them our equal.” Weir says, carefully choosing her words. “I have elected to keep this knowledge to myself, because I know that it might … cause a stir among the rest of this expedition, especially those personally victimized by the Wraith. I will not tell either of you what to do, but I do recommend you keep things subtle. At least for now.”

“We were planning to.” Delilah quickly responds, and Seeker simply tilts his head, waiting for Weir to continue speaking.

“Good. Now that that's off the table, let's discuss the near future, shall we?” She folds her hands on her table. “First off, how would we go about achieving first contact?”

“Simple.” Seeker replies. “My Hive is still landed on a planet that I know the Gate address to. I will go there, together with Dr. Abbot and all the proof we need, and request an audience with my Queen. I was a trusted member of her inner circle before you captured me. She will listen to what I have to say.”

“And that's where I'm gonna stop you, Steve.” Sheppard speaks up for the first time. “We're not sending a combat-incapable biologist into a Hive, with only your word as a safeguard. I'll be coming with you.”  
Seeker bares his teeth.  
“You believe that a show of aggression would aid our case?” he argues, but Sheppard smirks at him.  
“Look, as far as I'm concerned, you could walk back onto your ship, kill Dr. Abbot, and come back with an army to raze us to the ground. I'm coming with you to make sure that doesn't happen.”

“I have risked my life defending this city. I have fought at your side!” Seeker defends himself.  
“Yeah. You did. Because that storm would've killed you too.” Sheppard counters. “Trust is earned, not given. And you haven't earned mine yet.”

“It's okay. I'm sure your Queen, as cautious and wary as you've said that she is, would understand such a small security precaution.” Delilah beseeches him, to diffuse the situation.  
He grits his teeth.

“You will not speak unless spoken to, once you set foot on the ship.” he hisses. “You will stay one step behind me at all times, and you will not draw your weapons at any time. Then, and only then, will I agree to this.”  
“Fine. You do the talking. But I'm not giving up my weapons.” Sheppard responds. “That's the entire point of my being there, that I'm able to defend the Doctor if need be.”

“Her safety will be my top priority.” Seeker snaps back. “And whether or not you may keep your equipment is not my decision. If you are told to give up your weapons on entry, you will.”  
“I think I'll decide on that when we get there.” Sheppard says, making it very clear that he's unlikely to change his mind.

Delilah sighs heavily. This will be fun.  
“When do we launch that mission?” she asks, ignoring the bickering men.  
“Tomorrow morning.” Weir responds, also seemingly not too keen on letting that argument continue. “You have until then to prepare, but Dr. Beckett has already completed most preparations on the serum itself, as he's reported to me.”

“I'll prepare... mentally, then.” Delilah says and gets up. “Now that we're nearing the phase of our mission in which the Wraith stops being our prisoner, may I remove his ankle bracelet?”  
Weir hesitates for a moment.  
“I'll still request him to be in your company at all times. Simply, because a lone Wraith roaming the base will... raise a few eyebrows. We're not quite there yet.”

“Very well.” Seeker says, and rises from his seat as well.

–

He's outside on the balcony. Delilah can hear the winds from the lanthean sea through the open door. Closing in quietly, she watches him.

Seeker is wearing his leathers again, and is standing up straight, hands clasped behind his back, and head raised to the sky.  
Like a Commander.

The sharp contrast between his hair's white and his coat's black makes him look important, even dangerous. Delilah knows, he's looking up to the stars, longing to go home. It makes her heart ache.

“Not much longer.” she says, drawing his attention, and he turns to her.  
“You do not need to worry for me.” he assures her, but she shrugs at him.  
“Easier said than done. I can tell that you're unhappy here.” 

He takes a few steps toward her, and reaches out to caress her cheek.  
“As you said.” he whispers. “Not much longer.”   
Delilah closes her eyes, and breathes deeply, focusing on the light touch of his claws on her skin.

“I do not regret the events leading up to my capture.” he reveals, causing her to open her eyes again. “You are...” He pauses briefly, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “When I look at you. I see the future.”


	16. Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final Chapter of Part 1!
> 
> Be sure to subscribe to the series, if you enjoyed this story, to see how it progresses!

Chapter 16 – Departure

“Right.” Sheppard is pacing before the small group as he speaks. “This is a diplomatic mission, violence is discouraged. We're here to escort Dr. Abbot and our dear friend Steve into the Hiveship, and witness the audience with its Queen. No erratic actions, fire only on my command.”

Seeker is stand close beside Delilah, and she actively has to stop herself from taking his hand. She can feel her heartbeat in her throat, and her gaze is locked on the shimmering event horizon of the active Stargate before her. Sheppard turns to exchange a quick glance with Seeker, then he steps ahead, through the Gate.

Delilah knows the rest of his team only by name. There's of course McKay, the astrophysicist she had briefly spent time with during the Genii's invasion of the city, Aiden Ford, a young, rather bubbly marine, and Teyla, the Pegasus-Native who had tested the waters with a few human civilizations, regarding the vaccine. Major Sheppard had insisted on taking his full team along, and no one, not even Seeker had denied him that.

Carson is standing beside Dr. Weir, clad in his lab coat, and waves to the group about to leave. Delilah catches him mouthing “Good Luck” at her, and responds with a smile.

She's armed, with the full set of military equipment the rest of the team carries, and a coffer with the vaccine, her laptop, and basic medical equipment. Seeker, at her side, in wearing his leathers, hair brushed and braided, smelling like her lavender shampoo.  
Him and her pass through next, and when Delilah rematerializes on the other side, she hears Teyla, McKay and Ford step through, just before the Gate deactivates.

It's a barren landscape, desert with a few rough patches of ferns, empty, except for the massive structure, the hulking mass of the Hive overseeing the valley.  
It's dark, only illuminated by a few yellowish-green spots on its exterior, and Delilah looks up to Seeker.

He looks absolutely delighted. There's something akin to a gentle smile on his feature, as he glances upon his home, while the harsh desert winds brush over the group.

“So. Where's the front door?” Sheppard asks, and Seeker's glance flickers over to him, almost annoyed at being disturbed.  
“This way.” he points out, redundantly, and begins walking toward the ship.

Delilah hurries to keep up with him, and brings a bit of distance between herself and her apparent bodyguards.  
“Are you alright?” she carefully asks.  
“Very much so.” he responds, and glances at her from the corner of his eye. “Are you frightened?”

She hesitates, and attempts to analyze what she's actually feeling right now.  
Anxiety, yes. Nervousness, yes. A bit of curiosity and excitement, maybe, but not fear.   
“I don't think I am.” she then responds. “I want this to work out.”  
“It will.” he assures her. “My Queen is no fool. She will see the benefit of this alliance.”  
“You were our prisoner in the beginning, though.” she reminds him. “Won't she be angry with us?”

Seeker flashes his teeth, Delilah can't tell if he's smiling.  
“Not much more than I am.” he responds.

The ship is a lot bigger than anticipated, Delilah finds, as they approach. It already looked humongous from afar, but the closer they get, the bigger it appears. It's like a city, a massive, flying city full of Wraith.  
Definitely striking. Definitely respect-inducing. 

They walk for almost half an hour to reach it, and Seeker stops before a small panel at the ship's flank. He doesn't attempt to open it.  
“Well?” Sheppard asks impatiently, but his unease is very apparent in his tone.

“I have telepathically notified my people of our arrival.” Seeker explains. “They will open soon.”  
“Did you also tell them that you brought friends?” Sheppard continues to ask.  
“I told them that I brought people from Atlantis, who wish to bargain with us.” he responds. “It is best that details are only relayed to the Queen.”

“Great.” Sheppard huffs, and presses his lips together.

It takes about five minutes of complete, uncomfortable silence, before the doors slide open with a faint hiss.  
There's masked Drones, and another Wraith like Seeker, who completely disregards his entourage. He makes eye contact with Seeker, and raises his chin, a faint hiss escaping him. Seeker stiffens next to Delilah, and his upper lip pulls back in a silent snarl, then a shift goes through the Drones.

Something bright hits her in the chest, and the world turns dark around Delilah.

–

The next thing she feels is a skull-splitting headache. 

She groans, and forces her eyes open. There's something soft underneath her-... pillows? The room spins, and she struggles to make sense of her surroundings for a moment.

“Easy. You are safe.”

That's Seeker's voice. Her vision clears a little, and she looks around herself. She's in a rather spacious room, obviously inside the Hive, judging by the organic nature of the walls. A thin layer of fog swirls on the ground, and soft bioluminescent light illuminate the area.   
She herself is in what's best described as a pile of pillows and blankets, surprisingly comfortable, and Seeker is standing over her.

He's wearing different, more intricate leathers now, and there's one of the Wraith's energy weapons strapped to his hip.

“What happened?” she asks, and lets him help her up.  
“The Queen saw it fit to discuss matters with me alone first.” he says. “You were stunned, and so were the others.”

She sways dangerously, and Seeker steadies her gently.

“Where are they?” she asks, with mild alarm in her voice. Sheppard will not take kindly to this.  
“In a holding cell.” Seeker responds. “But do not worry. They will be brought before the Queen soon. I was able to vouch for you, that is why you are here with me.”

“What is this place, actually?” It really doesn't look like a cell to Delilah.  
“My quarters.” Seeker tells her. “The Queen will ensure that Sheppard's team is no danger to us, and then, she will speak with you.”

He leads her to the wide windowsill, and entices her to sit down.  
“Do not worry. You still have residue of the stun blast in your system, it will fade soon.” he assures her, and sits down with her.  
“Seeker, does your Queen know that you and I... y'know?” Somehow, Delilah doubts that the Wraith are a-okay with interspecies romance.

He proves her expectations wrong yet again.  
“She does. She knows everything that I know. I have shared my memories with her.” he reveals and Delilah goes pale.  
“Oh god. Everything? Like... everything?” she whispers.   
“She is no child.” he responds. “She knows what sex is, Delilah.”  
“Yeah but like,... she's seen me having sex with you?”  
“Through my eyes yes.”

She buries her face in her hands, and then runs them through her hair.  
“Oh my god.” she just mutters, and feels his hand on her back.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of.” he assures her. “She will not tease you for it. As I said before, there are no negative connotations to sexuality among my people. It is not seen as shameful.”  
“Right.” she breathes. “Cultural differences. I'll have to get used to that.”

“In time, you will.” he says softly, as she raises her head from her hands again. “This will be a shift for all of us, but like you, I believe in this. And that, my Queen has also seen in my mind.”

Delilah nods slowly, and takes his hand into hers.  
“Sheppard's not gonna be happy about this.” she warns, and hears him chuckle.  
“He is, as you would say, getting a taste of his own medicine.” Seeker says. “But, he is on my turf now. There is not much he can do about it.”

“I'm worried about him messing everything up because of this, not his personal feelings.” Delilah remarks.  
“I know.” Seeker says. “But his audience with my Queen will dissuade him from that.”

–

John stands in the vast, open room by himself. No weapons, no equipment. He shivers lightly in the cool interior of the Hive.

Betrayed, what a damn surprise. He can almost picture Steve's shit-eating grin, upon realizing his triumph already.  
Never make deals with the Wraith, he tells himself, just as the sharp sound of footsteps draw his attention.

His fight or flight instincts kick in, when he identifies their source.

It's a Queen, not unlike the one he's faced before, blood red hair framing her face, and cascading down her back unrestrained. She's dressed in an intricate gown made from silk and leather, her reptile-eyes focusing him.

“Major Sheppard.” she greets him. “I have heard many things about you. It is about time I meet you in person.”

John's breath hitches. He's all by himself, and as good a fighter he is, he doubts he can take a Queen in unarmed combat.  
So he just stares at her, a muscle at his jaw flexing, as she strides toward him.


End file.
